The Obsidian Dawn
by Iceworth
Summary: During Onyxia's mission in Stormwind, the mercenaries rise and the Black Dragonflight dwindles. After the most devastating losses in Azerothian history, the Flight must claw its way back from the brink of extinction and once again into glory.
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer:**__ Don't own WoW. A few OCs, but most characters belong to Blizzard._

_**A/N**__: The romance is slow-building. Like, REALLY slow building. Just warning you._

_This will be in two parts. As another disclaimer, I will let you know - I am not familiar with the WoWverse books or comics, so __**this will not be following that canon**__, certain events will be following the in-game canon instead. Heck, it'll barely be following canon at all - very early on it splits into an AU. What lore I could look up was very vague, too, so I may get some facts completely and utterly wrong because I had to guess, or couldn't find the information for until I'd already written it. I'm sorry for that in advance and hope the story makes up for the lore fail._

**_WARNINGS:_**_ Story contains triggers such as mentions of rape and victim-blaming (yay dragons), squick, homosexuality (I hate warning for that but I know people will complain if I don't), and... a lot of other stuff I can't remember._

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

Up until the point a five-year-old punched Varian Wrynn in the face, Bolvar Fordragon thought he'd be in for a quiet afternoon.

He'd intended for the hours to be spent lazing about in the emerald grass surrounded by beautiful flowered bushes, a book in one hand and a waterskin of half-frozen water, provided by a kindly court mage, in the other. He'd keep himself entertained as Varian and the blonde boy by his side hovered around the nearby pond, their soft voices drifting in the still summer air. The large pond had been put there only two weeks before, dotted with plants and already attracting the wildlife. Birds Bolvar had never seen before sometimes swam in there now, and in the safety of the nearby reeds, hidden from their view, scales shimmered. The goldfish, he'd been assured, would grow to be huge in there with all that space. The fish in the bowls and tanks around the palace didn't grow very big in their confines, but in the pond they had freedom that none of the fish in the court would ever know.

The blonde boy beside Varian stirred the water with a long stick as Bolvar returned to his book. Franklin Windsor would arrive soon to relieve him - they were far away from orcish danger here and the garden walls were high, but it would never do to leave the royals unsupervised. Bolvar was hardly bodyguard material - but the blonde's father was satisfied as long as _someone_ had an eye out, so confident he was in his own security. For now, Bolvar lost himself in his book until the sounds around him faded away.

Of course, it didn't last, and as it turned out, the King hadn't reckoned on a certain little urchin from the kitchens assaulting his son. The tranquility of the afternoon shattered when the five-year-old appeared from whatever dark hole she'd crawled out of and lunged at Varian with a balled fist at the ready. And never let it be said Varian backed away from a challenge.

Bolvar had been so engrossed in his book he hadn't heard the taunts that triggered it, or the sneers and shouts. The blonde started it, of course. The blonde _always_ started it. Varian was dark and broody and never spoke unless spoken to, but if triggered, his rage was surpassed only by a girl rumoured to skulk around the palace kitchens - and much according to Bolvar's excellent luck, it was that girl who decided to sock the Wrynn in the face when he stepped in to defend the blonde.

"Hey!" Bolvar called out. "Stop that!"

The King would kill him for merely sitting there and yelling at them whilst Varian was getting hurt. Bolvar hissed and left his book open on the grass, pages flickering in the faint breeze that stirred as he stormed over. The five-year-old girl was all nails and flurried hair as she attacked Varian, and Varian was giving as good as he got. His legs swiped at her ankles, sending her to the ground, but immediately sharp teeth latched onto his leg. Varian yelled.

"Arthas!" Bolvar barked at the blonde boy. "Get her off!" He wrapped his arms around Varian - but the girl rushed to her feet and surged towards the newcomer. Before he knew it, Bolvar was on his back, blinking up at the clouds, winded and cradling his stomach.

"Whoa, you should've seen her knock _you_ down!" came Arthas' voice. "No way am _I_ touching _that_. I'll let you take care of it. Hey, Varian, punch her in the - aww, yeah!"

Did - did that really just happen? Did he just get tackled by a _five-year-old_?

Growling, he swung onto his haunches and sprung. The girl, who'd been sitting on Varian's chest pummelling his face, was no match for his own strength - he might be scrawny for a thirteen-year-old, but Bolvar still had the advantage of age, for what little it had done moments before. She'd only gotten the better of him because he hadn't expected it. He physically pried her from the young Varian and pulled her to her feet.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" he barked.

Sadly, his voice was still high pitched and not yet intimidating, and it showed. The girl didn't back down - she writhed and hissed in his arms, and it was all he could do to keep a firm grip on her. He yanked her into his arms, pinning her own to her sides in a lock. Arthas Menethil watched them quietly as Varian clambered to his feet, scratches on his face beading with red as the young prince plugged his nose.

"She's good," said Varian, a note of admiration in his tone. In spite of his injuries, he didn't seem worse for wear, and seemed - entertained?

Fel. _Children._

"What is the meaning of this?" Bolvar hissed. Varian's expression didn't change, but Arthas began to look sheepish.

"She's a wild thing," said Varian, without smiling. He stared at the girl with the hollowness in his eyes that had remained since Stormwind. Varian - Bolvar had only a year on him, in spite of acting as his babysitter, and could very well remember that the boy had been so much different before his father died. "Can't you see that?" He tilted his head, eyes not quite focusing. "She's a freak. Reminds me of those orcs. I swear they raised her. They say they did, you know."

Arthas's face twisted. "Uhh, you better not go around repeating that, Father would… well…" He cast the girl a guilty look. Not genuine guilt, of course - more like the guilt one got when one realised one was about to be caught.

The girl barked out some gibberish, snarling at Varian. To Bolvar's relief, she was beginning to tire, her struggles still futile. She snapped another made-up word and sagged in his arms. Bolvar looked down at the girl in astonishment. "You can't - " right. Discipline. Was he allowed to tell princes off? Screw it. "You can't just attack a _five-year-old_!" he said, looking up at Varian. "You're more than twice her age!"

"Seven," the girl snarled, and began to writhe again to no avail. She was still weak. Still tiring. This didn't stop her hissing like a drenched cat, however.

"What?" said Bolvar.

"I'm _seven_!"

"You're tiny," said Bolvar.

"I'll tiny _you!_" the girl screeched. Arthas' hands rose gingerly to his ears.

"That's Kat," said Arthas. "She's a brat. Kat the brat. Nobody likes her."

"Says the pompous - "

Bolvar clamped a hand over the girl's mouth. Varian was hurt, and Bolvar had no idea what to do aside from get the girl to shut up and avoid making things worse. The blood! What the - what the _hell_ did they expect Bolvar to do, anyway? He didn't expect to be playing more than babysitter to the twelve-year-old prince! If someone had _really_ attacked the children, they'd be mincemeat by now. Varian didn't seem to care for the blood that dripped down his face, but Terenas would have Bolvar's head if it had been Arthas who'd been hurt instead.

"What's going on here?"

Oh, thank the _Light_. Bolvar risked turning his head to see Franklin, three years Bolvar's senior and guard-in-training, striding over. "Hell if I know," Bolvar grunted. "They were fighting - _ow! You little horror!_"

"Kat" had sunk teeth far too sharp to belong to a seven-year-old into Bolvar's palm. Franklin winced, but ignored Bolvar's pain in favour of heading straight for Prince Varian. He seemed unfazed by Kat's ferocity. "Let's get you to the kitchens," he said. "I'll take care of this from here, Bolvar. You get her cleaned up, but keep her away from the kitchens." He eyed the struggling girl. Varian watched with impassivity.

Now, Kat's movements were nothing. Young children only had so much energy, after all. Franklin stepped closer to Bolvar, and murmured, "You didn't hear it from me, but that's Lord Prestor's girl. You _may_ want to be careful."

"Lord Prestor has a daughter?" said Bolvar. "Since when?"

"Since I was born, you thick imbecile," Kat spat. "What, were you born as stupid as everyone else around here, with a skull as dense as thorium - !"

"Does she always talk like that?" Bolvar said quickly.

"Yup," said Franklin. "Is your hand alright?"

"I think it's gone numb…"

"She is psycho," said Arthas flatly.

"Alright, enough from you," Franklin flicked Arthas' forehead, making the boy blink. "Come on, let's get Varian cleaned up. You shouldn't be egging him on."

The blonde boy trotted after the guard-in-training like a faithful little dog, with Varian lagging behind wearing a scowl. "It was _insane_!" Arthas exclaimed. "She just _flew_ at him, didn't she, Varian?"

Damned Franklin Windsor - he had a way with the two boys Bolvar could never hope to have. Bolvar always preferred his books to talking to them, and was treated as a lot older than he was. Varian was only a year younger than him, after all, and Bolvar was practically baby sitting him. Chuck in Franklin, though, and it was as if Franklin was the younger boy here. Bolvar grunted, finally letting Kat go.

She almost ran for it. Almost. But Bolvar was quicker, seizing her wrist. "Don't even _think_ about struggling," he said. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Little Kat hissed at him. Finally, he got a good look at her injuries - a couple of scratches on her face from Varian's nails, but nothing serious. Still, no noble wanted his baby girl beaten up, even if she was the one who lunged first. "Your father is going to be furious."

_That_ got through to her. He'd never seen a girl go so white before, go so still, so quickly. "So," said Bolvar conversationally, relenting out of pity. The girl must be terrified of her father - good to see _some_ parents didn't pamper their royal brats. "You better come with me and get cleaned up, don't you think?"

He glanced away to where his book lay abandoned on the grass. Curse it - he'd have to come back and get it, he wasn't about to let go of Kat's wrist or he'd never see her again. Sighing, Bolvar led her away through the gardens and into the courtyard, and then at last into the palace.

Contrasted with the warm summer outside, the stone walls held in the cool of the still-lingering winter. The snow had melted long ago, but the palace's walls clung to the cold almost unnaturally, seeming to hold it in all for itself until summer would pry it from its grasp. Lordaeron became nowhere near as hot in the summer as Stormwind did, though, and Bolvar missed the heat. It didn't snow in Stormwind. Too far south. That didn't stop it getting cold, though. He wondered what Stormwind was like right now. Teeming with orcs, more than likely. Or had it been abandoned and left ruined?

As Bolvar lost himself in his thoughts and memories, the girl trotted beside him, an unreadable expression on her face. Finally, he remembered her when he almost let go of her wrist absently. He'd seen her sometimes before, never met her. He knew of Kat - "Kat of the kitchens", "feral Kat", all kinds of nicknames given to the girl who skulked around the servants as if she wasn't a noble daughter who'd grow up to become - Light forbid - a _Lady_.

Fancy being _Prestor's_ daughter. Who knew he'd even been _married_ once? Did Calia know? Bolvar wasn't sure how Franklin did. Calia was barely of adulthood but already making eyes at Lord Prestor, and there were rumours of a possible arrangement coming up. Perhaps Kat was misbehaving so much because she didn't fancy her mother being replaced. Or, worse still, becoming stepniece of the dreaded Arthas Menethil, who seemed to have been the one to provoke the girl in the first place. Had he been bullying her, he wondered?

"So," said Bolvar casually. "What do you think of Calia?"

"She can swallow her tiara and asphyxiate on it, as far as I'm concerned."

"As_what_?"

"We're not all imbeciles with low intelligence," remarked the child. "I see you have an incredibly lacking vocabulary."

"Right," said Bolvar. "Do you read the dictionary as a hobby? Aren't you a little _young_ to know words bigger than five letters?"

"Of course not, dunderhead."

Charming girl.

The residential wing of the palace was empty at this time of day, thankfully, aside from the occasional stray fetching something from their rooms. Bolvar fished an old key from his pocket with his spare hand and twisted it in the lock, allowing the door to fall open. "Right," he said, gently placing the girl in a chair once inside. The dark-haired girl looked around quietly. "Is Arthas bothering you?"

"That blonde _brat_," Kat stated, "homed in on me in the gardens and attempted to provoke me into a fight, going on and on about how as his future niece I should obey him and tried to humiliate me into ingesting dirt." She stared at Bolvar without blinking. He tried not to squirm. "As the saying goes, 'he started it.' He wanted a fight, and he got one. Wrynn decided to get in the way. Once I was done with him, I was going to tear Menethil's eyes out. Do not punish _me_ if your children are so weak they cannot defend themselves against someone half their size."

"You don't attack anyone," said Bolvar. "_Ever_. I don't care what fools they are to you. Tell an adult if they give you grief."

Kat sneered. "Oh yes, tell an adult like a coward! I can fight my own battles, weakling. They're not the invincible white-knights they think they are." She snorted. "My father would have nothing to do with me if I couldn't take care of…" her expression changed. "By the Titans, he's…"

Bolvar watched as the girl shook her head. Both hands rose to massage her temples with the heels of her fist. Plump lips moved silently. Bolvar pulled out a chair and straddled it with his arms around the back, leaning closer on two legs. He barely caught her whispers. "… _Control_," she mumbled. "Not a… not a _child_, can't…" She grit her jaw and shook her head as if something were stuck in her ears.

He realised he felt sorry for her. A girl who had so little trust in adults that she couldn't tell someone when she was being bullied, to the point she snapped. She was - she was filled with so much _rage_. And highly intelligent. That much was obvious. What was going on for her that she acted this way? _You must feel sorry for the orcs_, a soft female voice said in Bolvar's head_, that they feel they must hurt others to make themselves feel better. Why is that, I wonder? What do they do to each other they take their anger out on us?_

"You are only seven," Bolvar said softly. "No matter what nobles expect of their children - _I'm_ no noble, believe me, I'm only living with them because of my parents - you're not an adult. You're a child. You don't have to deal with this all on your own. Your father has unreasonable expectations if he thinks you should put up with all that taunting." He stood up. "I know Arthas can be - well. He can be a bully, to put it lightly. Now wait here, I'll get something to clean you up."

When he returned, Kat stared at the grain in the table. He set a small box there, and retrieved a vial and some cloth. "Just something to clean your cuts," he said. "It'll sting a bit."

She didn't even flinch as he dabbed her face. The bleeding had stopped and some of the blood had began to dry, but all of it was cleaned up easily. "There we go," the boy said, closing the box. He looked at the girl, whose eyes hadn't risen the entire time. "Are you alright?" he said softly.

The girl looked up at him. He'd never seen a child her age look like that before. There was something odd about her - grown up, wise beyond her years, in spite of her actions before. "My father is coming," she said.

There was a knock on the door.

"He knows when things like…" her face screwed up and she shook her head rapidly again. "Do not speak of my…" She hissed, eyes closing tight. "No, I am not a _coward_!"

Casting the half-mad girl one last sympathetic look, he rose to answer the door. He was only half surprised when the handsome man on the other side smiled at him.

There was something about Lord Prestor everyone loved. He was young - he must have been married and had Katrana as soon as he'd been of age. He had no lines in his face and always wore a smile. People smiled back, looking at him. Even Genn Greymane, Bolvar had heard, and he was the king of grump. "Lord Prestor," said Bolvar. He bowed, opening the door. "You heard Katrana was here?"

"Indeed I did," said Lord Prestor, stepping inside. "This is a tidy place you have," he said. "Do forgive me - I have heard of your parents' deeds, but never met you in person yet, Master Fordragon. My condolences. They died heroes. You must be proud."

Bolvar pressed his lips into a thin line. "Yes, my Lord," he said. "Thank you."

Lord Prestor turned his gaze on the girl in the chair. She rose, back straight, looking her father in the eyes calmly. "You are a strong girl," he remarked, faint disapproval not absent in his tone. "I see you cleaned yourself up."

Was it Bolvar, or did her face turn a shade paler? She did not answer. Bolvar decided not to correct the man.

"Do accept my most sincere apologies for this incident with my daughter," said Prestor, turning to look at Bolvar again. There was something in his features that wasn't as friendly as before, but only slightly, and Bolvar wondered what kind of relationship the man had with his daughter that she was so… _screwed up_. "When I heard of what happened, I came as quickly as I could. Katrana, I hope you haven't been giving Master Fordragon any difficulties."

Katrana didn't answer, except to tilt her head slightly in acknowledgement with hard eyes.

"She's very eager for her…" Bolvar chose his words carefully. "Independence," he finished lamely. "She fights battles no child her age should." Was it him, or did Kat's eyes narrow slightly when turned on him?

Prestor sighed. "Ever since her mother died she has been… difficult. Katrana, come here."

Kat obliged, but did not look at her father, avoiding his eyes when Lord Prestor lifted her chin and inspected her face. He did not seem very worried about the wounds on his daughter's face. "I have told you time and time again that you are to behave while we are guests of King Terenas. Attacking his son and the prince of Stormwind is _not_ a way to make yourself welcome. Do you understand?"

Kat's expression didn't change, but her fist clenched. Bolvar said cautiously, "They provoked her, my Lord."

Prestor didn't look at him. "And that is never an excuse to lose control to one's rage," he said smoothly. "If one cannot control oneself as a child, one will not control oneself as an adult." Kat sneered. "See?" said Prestor. "You are an open book, my daughter. Control yourself."

"Yes Father," said Kat icily.

"Good," Prestor's smile returned. "You will be punished, of course, restricted to your quarters for a day with no entertainment. I will have your meals delivered." Kat's face sharpened into a scowl, which faded at a dark look from her father. The menacing stare faded as Prestor once again turned a sunny smile on Bolvar. "Thank you, Master Fordragon, for taking care of her. Though I would appreciate…" He paused for a moment, before continuing. "Katrana is not well-known amidst the palace. As you understand, politics can be a… dangerous occupation, especially in this time of orc assassins and unrest down south. I would not wish any harm upon my daughter as a result of her connection to me. Do you understand?"

Ah. It wasn't like a noble to say that other people wanted to kill them, and were willing to resort to. That was strange. Bolvar nodded. "Of course, your Lordship. But I might warn you - one of the guards knew. And if he knew, it's probably…" he trailed off. "Franklin Windsor," he said helpfully. "It was him who told me who Kat was."

Had Arthas snitched? Bolvar could remember Varian's remarks on Kat's parentage, and the look on Arthas' face - he had to know. Lord Prestor wouldn't enjoy being compared to orcs, surely.

Lord Prestor frowned. "I see," he mused. "I will have to have a word with him. Come, Katrana, we will impose on Master Fordragon no longer."

-o-O-o-

Outside, Daval Prestor inspected his surroundings. Only empty halls greeted his eyes, and he gestured to the small child beside him as he slowly began to walk, taking his time along the corridor. When he spoke, he did not speak in Common. "As today has no doubt enlightened you, the human body in its various stages of life has its own needs and emotions. A human body is hard to control." He tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear, smile gone, face severe. "It has its own mind. It _will_ attempt to take over your draconic essence if you allow it."

He looked down at the child beside him. "You are here as a child to learn about human culture, not to embarrass and foil me. It is frowned upon to physically deal with your enemies, especially children of highly powerful humans. Your ignorance of human culture will be forgiven easily because of your believed age. I will not permit you to choose an age of your own until you know enough about human culture and have enough control over your body to not humiliate us all."

"I understand, Father," said the child. Her chin was lifted high, her eyes fierce, but the hostility was gone - suppressed. "The human takes pity on me. Weakling." She snorted. "Fancy not knowing what _asphyxiate_ means, he cannot speak his own language to save his life. It will not happen again."

"You are not a child," continued Daval Prestor. "But you are in the body of a human child, and so it will attempt to have you act as one. You are thousands of years old, you have no excuse to allow - "

"Do not speak to me as if I'm some whelp! I am an adult and you will treat me like one!"

"And this is _exactly_ what I mean, Onyxia," said Prestor, glaring down at her, eyes flashing dangerously. Fear showed on the child's face, before it vanished. "You are stronger than this, you pathetic whelp. If the Purging had existed when you were hatched, you would have died as you deserve. Romathis mastered a human's body within weeks. We've been here _months_, and still you allow the human body's emotions to override your discipline - whatever there is of it." He sneered. "For now, you will go to the kitchens and continue your eavesdropping. We must keep an ear cocked for danger. Later, you will be punished. _Severely_. The skin of a human child is very sensitive, as you may have found out…"

This time, the child didn't flinch. "Yes, Father."


	2. PART ONE

**PART ONE**

**Worthy of Survival**

* * *

**Chapter One**

* * *

Bolvar Fordragon was fourteen years old and long past the age where he wanted to do nothing but play outside, but he was yet to ever appreciate rain.

In Stormwind, it hadn't rain much, but in cold, blustery Lordaeron whatever gods watched over the Lightforsaken place rationed the scarce sunlight. It was supposed to snow today, but instead the heavens spat water all over Lordaeron, turning the stone pathways into dangerous slicks of ice.

At first his friend Leonardo Withering - good old Leo, son of the most prestigious rogue in Lordaeron - tried to cheer him up. "You can always bugger off and read or something," he'd said. "Go stick your nose in a book. The library's fairly warm."

But Bolvar had already read everything interesting the library held. Nothing could warm his damp spirits. Rudolphus Withering had found his son and dragged him off to learn all the (in Bolvar's opinion) dull things rogues did, and Reggie and his older brother Franklin had gone to Silverpine for Winter's Veil and the new year to visit some faceless cousins and wouldn't return for two more days. All Bolvar wanted was a nice, warm patch of sunlight and a book.

And so with his tutoring done for the day, Bolvar haunted the palace rather than risking the ice outside. As he rounded a corner he saw a girl curled up on a large windowsill. The book in her lap dwarfed her, obscuring her face. Envy flared, until he caught sight of the thickness of the tome. What was that, a book on _law_ or something? Not even his favourite book on elves and dwarves was that big, and Reggie had nicked it two or three times to use it as a doorstopper. "Aren't you a little small to be reading that?" he said.

Too late, as a dark head looked up and the book was lowered to reveal a cold glare fixed on him did he realise he'd picked the _worst possible person_ to talk to. "Oh," he said. "Um. Hello, Kat!"

"_Katrana_," said the girl. "My name is Katrana, you moron, or are you deaf?"

He hadn't seen her since the incident last year. If it weren't for the persistent rumours of her lurking in the kitchens _still_, he'd have thought she'd vanished off the surface of Azeroth - Arthas hadn't seen her, Varian hadn't seen her, Bolvar _definitely_ hadn't seen her, and Leo and Reggie hadn't even known she'd existed until Bolvar happened to bring her up in conversation three weeks before. Kat was never seen unless she wanted to be. It was rare indeed to see her out in the open, rather than under a rock somewhere.

"Um, sorry," he said. "So, what _are_ you reading?"

He glanced at the book, and his brain promptly gave up on deciphering words as soon as it recognised Thalassian script. Bloody hell, she wasn't just reading long and complicated books, she was reading them in _Thalassian_?

"Why don't you fornicate with yourself?" said Katrana, mock-sweetly. "I hear that type of activity is, so to speak, all the rage with boys your age."

"Eh? What does that mean?"

But all attempts to get Katrana to talk came to nothing. The girl ignored him as he pestered her, until she lost her temper and hurled the book at him. With what he was sure was a large dent in the side of his head, Bolvar ducked away with his tail between his legs determined never to speak to the stupid brat again. That girl had _issues_.

Later that day Bolvar sought out Leo. He didn't bother to knock as he barged into his friend's quarters without so much as a hello. "Leo, what the fel does 'fornicate' mean?"

Leo's eyes twinkled mischievously. A sharp dagger and a whetstone lay across the boy's lap, and the dark-haired rogue-in-training seemed unconcerned at his friend's rude entrance. "Why do you ask?"

"Remember Kat?"

"What, the bitch in the kitchens? What did she say?"

Bolvar told him. Leo broke down into laughter, and by the end of the day he'd made sure everyone else knew what had happened, too. Six weeks later, Bolvar thought he couldn't be any more embarrassed, but when Reggie finally took pity on him and explained, Bolvar realised he'd been wrong - the only thing worse than an embarrassing moment was _knowing exactly why it was embarrassing._

-o-O-o-

But life went on, humiliation faded into the past, children grew up and boys became men. Stormwind was reclaimed, soldiers rounded orcs into internment camps, the Gilneans built their walls and amidst royal wedding preparations, and whispers of Daval Prestor's disappearance crept down south, wedging themselves in conversation between wedding cakes, invitations and that Tiffin girl.

As soon as he'd been old enough, Bolvar Fordragon had gone into the Stormwind Army. Since then he'd joined the palace guard at the urging of Varian Wrynn - indeed, many soldiers who'd fought to reclaim Stormwind had gone into their own occupations, or returned to Lordaeron, but there were still enough left to give Stormwind a decent defensive force. It had been a few years since Stormwind had begun rebuilding and still the Stonemasons toiled day and night. But Gilneas City hadn't been built in a day, and neither would Stormwind. Cleanup alone had taken months.

Stormwind. It would never be the same again - instead of the old wooden structures and haphazard city layout, it was being well-designed this time over and built out of stone. The Stonemasons' Guild poured blood, sweat and tears into making Stormwind even more majestic than it had been in the past, but they could never capture what it had once been. Muck and dust caked the street from all the building, accompanying the cacophony of hammers, saws and chisels. Even at night when Bolvar walked the streets, woken by nightmares of the past, he couldn't pretend it hadn't changed. He was back in Stormwind - but he wasn't home. Home had burned down in the first war. Home had died on the streets screaming for him to flee as his father died in her arms.

They'd never found the remains of Celine or Arthurian Fordragon, but Bolvar knew better than to hope his parents were alive. If they were, he'd have found them long ago. He'd found his father's sister - Aunt Mara - just in time for her to die of her injuries. She'd barely survived the journey north, and one cold day her body finally relinquished her spirit.

One warm afternoon he had off, Bolvar Fordragon stumbled across a small cluster of people. They surrounded a tall woman crowned with long, black hair.

"The journey was uneventful, thank you," said a familiar voice. "No, there is no news of my father. Yes, my father was invited to the wedding, but as is obvious he cannot attend. Unfortunately I have things to address tomorrow, but I thank you for the invitation. Yes, I can wait for the King. No, my father held more interest in history than economics - "

Some part of Bolvar Fordragon's distant memory said, _oh Light, not again_.

The rest, determined not to hold a grudge formed years ago, ignored it.

As a noble ducked away from the small crowd that had begun to disperse, Bolvar Fordragon found himself with a clear view of the young woman standing unsmilingly in the centre of it, addressing everyone who seemed to be speaking at once and firing off sentences back in response. _Damn_, Katrana Prestor had grown into an attractive woman, and probably had a sharp wit to complement it. Her eyes, underlined by fatigue, narrowed in irritation. But who wouldn't be a little bit grumpy after a long voyage from Lordaeron? If she hadn't come by ship then the journey was longer still.

Bolvar smiled, approaching the young woman when the last of the nobles, bored by the arrival already, had flounced off. "Welcome to Stormwind. What brings you here?"

Katrana Prestor didn't even look at him at first. "I have come to offer my services as royal advisor to His Majesty King Varian Wrynn at the personal recommendation of His Majesty Terenas Menethil."

Already forgetting what happened last time he'd said something along those lines, Bolvar said, "Aren't you a little on the young side for that?" Fel, Katrana was barely an adult.

Her forehead tugged in a frown as she turned to him. "I assure you, I have been deep in studies far surpassing my peers' level for many years - " suddenly her eyes flashed in recognition, and her voice dropped its friendly tone. "Oh. It's _you_. What do you want?"

In spite of her tone, Bolvar couldn't help a small laugh. Some people never changed. "Good to see you too, Kat! It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"I would much prefer being addressed as Lady Prestor," said Katrana. "I am hardly a young girl anymore."

She'd always been a _Lady Prestor_. Always an adult in a child's body - if a ferocious one with barely any self control.

"I just thought I'd see how you were doing," said Bolvar. Katrana Prestor stared, a disgusted look creeping onto her features. His smile wavered. "It's been a while, after all - "

"I must look for King Wrynn immediately." Lady Prestor cut him off, giving him a brisk bow. "Do excuse me."

Talk about being brushed off, Bolvar thought grumpily as the young woman strode away. He let out a low whistle. He pitied the unlucky bastard who ended up with her on his hands - on a professional capacity or not. If there was one thing he knew, however, it was that if Wrynn accepted her, life at Stormwind Keep was about to get _much_ more interesting.

Of course, in retrospect, he'd had _no idea_ how right he was.

* * *

_May the Light inherit your warmth, for our world grows cold in your absence. - Tiffin Wrynn's grave._

* * *

Most people changed from childhood to adulthood. Katrana Prestor hadn't. Those who didn't tended to change soon enough into adulthood. Still, Katrana Prestor hadn't. She no longer hung about kitchens or punched princes in the face, but aside from that Lady Prestor stayed the same throughout all the years she'd been in Stormwind. The Stonemasons rebelled after being refused their payment, Tiffin's son Anduin grew into a young boy and Varian disappeared - but Katrana Prestor was as unbearable as ever.

From the way she paced to one side of the training square, she was considering cursing Reggie. There were rumours she was secretly a warlock, and it would not have surprised Bolvar Fordragon if they were true. Fel, if she was a demon, he wouldn't have been surprised. She'd have made an exceptional succubus, but even succubi were capable of pretending to be nice.

In spite of being early October, summer had decided to steal one last day, holding it in a tight, sweltering embrace. It had to be the hottest October day in record - unfortunate for Reginald Windsor, who huffed and puffed, red faced, in the centre of the training square. A congregation of nobles watched, along with a few members of the Brotherhood of Cinders and a tabardless gnome Bolvar didn't recognise. Some tittered in amusement, some seemed to be placing bets, some watched with bated breath as a member of the Suicide Squad stared up a line of steel into Reginald's ruddy face, the sword an inch away from his neck.

"You're dead," said Reggie. "Right. Give me a breather, then bring on number eight."

The withering look Katrana Prestor shot the unfortunate loser could have boiled the blood in the man's veins. The dark haired man snorted, picked up his abandoned helm and jammed it over his head. Adam Rivers, leaning against a wall, shook his head in disappointment. With Prestor turning a fresh glare at _him_, it was amazing the captain of the Suicide Squad wasn't sweating. Her so-called pets were letting her down.

Katrana Prestor _loathed_ Bolvar's childhood friend, who sat in a chair splashing cold water on his face.

"Right," said the man after a pause. The nobles perked up again as he stepped back into the training square. "Who's number eight?"

"Maria Winters," said Captain Rivers. "Go on."

An unsmiling woman donned her helmet, standing with her legs apart and fingers firmly gripping her sword. The Brotherhood of Cinders continued to watch in interest, and even the nobility seemed to forget they were beside a mangy pack of mercenaries as they watched with bated breath. Being mostly oblivious to the politics of Stormwind, the Brotherhood were not savvy enough to know that an opportunity to anger Katrana Prestor was a golden one indeed. Only Leonardo Withering cared to indulge himself, and if anyone hated Katrana Prestor more than she hated them, it was Leo. He stood with his arms crossed, watching in fascination as Maria Winters struck the first blow against Windsor's sword. At his knee stood the golden-haired gnome Bolvar didn't recognise with a tight bun on top of her head. At his waist hovered a visiting Ironforge noble whose name Bolvar Fordragon could not recall, either, for the life of him, his black beard spilling down his stomach. Bolvar was losing his touch. Like everyone else, the dwarf didn't smile either - it was as if the whole gathering amused only the nobles, and everyone else was watching some kind of funeral.

Given how angry Prestor was getting, it wouldn't surprise Bolvar if it ended this way.

Windsor had wanted to get into the Suicide Squad for months and this was his initiation - the conditions forced upon him by Katrana Prestor, the only crack in her resolve Bolvar Fordragon had seen in years. If he defeated all nine of the Suicide Squad in a row, he had earned his place. Seizing the only chance he had been able to get in months, Reginald had agreed.

It was a miracle he'd gotten this far. But Bolvar was determined he'd get in whether he'd won or not - the man had more than earned it.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Maria ducked and rolled, Reginald roared and lunged, but sword continued to strike sword.

"Lady Prestor," Bolvar caught a small voice beside Katrana. Anduin gazed up at the advisor through his mess of blonde hair. The boy was the only person who could smile at her longer than thirty seconds without having it seared off his face by her scowls. "Guess what?"

Anduin was the only person Katrana had also never yelled at, though that didn't stop the cranky woman from shooting him a stern look. "Yes, Your Majesty?" said Prestor.

"Sammy had her baby. A girl."

"Congratulations are in order, then." Oddly enough, this news seemed to cheer Katrana somewhat - at least, as much as she ever could be cheered. "I shall visit her after this is done - oh, for the love of the Titans, _Winters_!"

"You're dead," said Reginald Windsor.

Without a word Maria Winters stood up, bowed, and looked to Adam Rivers.

Captain Rivers sighed. "Well, this is it then." He drew his sword. "Need a break first, Reg?"

"Yes please," said Reginald, collapsing into his chair. "I haven't had a good workout like that in a while!"

"Uncle Bolvar," said Anduin, who'd appeared beside him.

Bolvar tore his eyes away from Reginald. "Yes?"

"Sammy had her baby," said Anduin. "A girl."

"So I heard you say!" said Bolvar warmly. "Congratulations to her. And shouldn't you be with your tutor, young man?"

Anduin's smile faded. Over his shoulder, Maeqa sent Bolvar an apologetic look. "Miss Perin let him go to visit Amandine - the baby," said the night elven bodyguard. "I'll take him back immediately. Your Majesty, with your permission - "

"Yeah, let's go," Anduin muttered.

The fights had gotten a bit boring by number five, but on the last one, with the end so near, even the Brotherhood of Cinders had perked up. Franklin Windsor, Reggie's older brother, stood not far from Leo, watching with a proud grin as Reginald struck first. But Adam Rivers was quicker than the squad he commanded and would give him a challenge, Bolvar knew that. The captain leapt around, deft on his feet, and in his exhaustion Reggie could barely keep up. Katrana Prestor watched with a face like stone.

The nobles began to murmur and Franklin perked up in alarm as it became evident that Reginald Windsor could barely block Rivers' blows, until he was knocked onto his back and silver glimmered at his throat.

"You're dead," said Rivers.

The nobles groaned. "So close!" called out Lord Fletcher. The audience burst into applause, as if the whole trial had been personal entertainment. Leo looked grim. The Ironforge noble beside him prodded his hip and murmured. With a nod from Leo, the two men moved off, the gnome pausing in her applause to scuttle after them. Finally, Katrana Prestor stopped looking as if she was about to kill everyone around her.

"I'll get you next time," Reginald Windsor smirked.

Rivers held out his hand and pulled the man up. "You're a stubborn one," he said with a smirk. "A great attribute to have in a soldier. I'd be honoured to have you by my side."

"It's almost a shame he failed," said Katrana Prestor as Bolvar Fordragon approached her. The nobles began to walk off, some coming closer to congratulate Reginald Windsor on his attempt. On the sidelines not far from Prestor, the Suicide Squad glowered.

"About that," said Bolvar in a low tone. "I think he deserves a place, he defeated eight in a row - "

"The terms were set," said Katrana Prestor. "He agreed to them, he lost."

"He fought, pardon me, damn well. He deserves - "

"Rivers," said Prestor. "A word?"

_Poor bastard_, thought Bolvar.

"What the hell is wrong with your men?" said Prestor as soon as the Captain came as close as he dared, armour clanking. "Are they all incompetent? Is Winters so pathetic she couldn't defeat a tired man? Are you even _training_ them, or do you allow them to spend every morning grooming their nails?"

"I train them as hard as I - "

"Not good enough." Prestor's eyes blazed. "_Train them harder_, before I feel inclined to replace you."

"We underestimated - "

"_No excuses_," Prestor seethed. "Dismissed."

Adam Rivers scrammed.

"You set Reginald up to fail," said Bolvar Fordragon.

"Again," said Prestor smoothly. "He agreed to the terms."

"But - " Bolvar's words died in his throat as Prestor narrowed her eyes. "Right. So, Miss Inkweaver's child - "

"A girl, yes, I heard," Prestor snorted. "Who would probably be dead if it weren't for the _shining_ example of so-called nobility in Stormwind Keep."

"I beg your pardon?"

She never got a chance to answer. A shrill scream from a nearby training room cut through all other sound.

Bolvar's sword rang as he pulled it out of its sheath.

-o-O-o-

His footsteps beat against the white stone as he homed in. He tore open the door to Prestor's personal training room, and what he saw froze his stomach in fear.

Black wings spanned the room like a leather tent, and on the stone floor coiled a sinister tail. A claw clutched a stained sword. Past the massive dragonspawn Bolvar caught sight of Leonardo Withering with a hand pressed to his abdomen, blood seeping between his fingers -

_No._ Light, no -

A tiny blur caught his attention - the female gnome just slid out from underneath the enormous creature, the tip of her tiny dagger stained red, white robes smudged with dirt. She yelped as a clawed foot batted her away and stumbled, but she quickly recovered herself. As the creature struggled to turn in the cramped quarters, she leapt up, grabbed a hold of his snout, jammed the hilt of her dagger into its eye -

It roared.

"What is dragonspawn doing _in my keep_?"

Katrana Prestor's angry cry brought Bolvar Fordragon to his senses. He looked around wildly - he needed a crossbow, where the hell were the crossbows? But no, this was a training room designed for spell casters, and the walls were bare of everything except soot stains and targets. With the gnome weaving around the dragonspawn's legs he didn't trust himself to engage the creature with his sword for fear of injuring her, and she looked determined to bring it down. She dodged a singed dummy as it fell. A shelf collapsed, forcing the gnome to roll out of the way of bouncing wooden targets.

Prestor appeared in the doorway, her eyes on fire. "I will take care of this," she snarled.

Bolvar thought he'd seen Katrana angry before. He'd been wrong. Pure, seething _fury_ glimmered beneath the surface as flames coalesced into an orb in Prestor's hands, before a blur of light and heat shot towards the creature. The dragonspawn ducked just in time.

The gnome screamed. At the dragonspawn's swipe she flew into the wall where she collapsed in a heap. Bolvar ran into a corner and out of the way as Prestor brought another fireball to life. This time the missile clipped the dragonspawn on the shoulder. It barely hissed.

Prestor swore. "Immune to _fire_!" she shrieked. "_Fine, you cursed creature!_" Her staff blurred as she whirled it around and up into the air, ready to bring the shaft down on the creature's head -

Gods. Trust Prestor to _beat a dragonspawn to death with her staff._

But she halted, staff poised as a gold and white blur overtook her and lunged at the enemy. For a moment the gnome hung, suspended, at the creature's chest, tiny dagger plunged inside, before gravity groped at her and the gnome slid down, slitting open the dragonspawn's stomach. The staff sprung back into action and _crack_ed against the dragonspawn's head.

It teetered for a moment. Crimson pooled on the stone below. Hair matted with drying blood, the gnome staggered backwards. The dragonspawn slumped to the ground, dead before it came to rest.

For a long moment, Bolvar heard nothing but the roaring of blood in his ears and the gnome's fevered panting. Leo's groan shattered the silence.

"Rivers," growled Prestor, "I am going to have a word with you - " She pivoted on a heel. "Get out of my way!" she shrieked, elbowing through the small crowd that had formed outside the door.

"D-dragons!" tittered the swaying gnome. How had she even survived being sent at the wall like that? Blood streamed down her white face, matting her golden hair as she turned to Bolvar. "I c-can't - dragons!"

"Someone get a priest!" called out Bolvar. He clambered over the creature's body. Leo slumped against the wall, teeth grit together, his hand soaked in blood. "Leo - "

"Still alive," Leo grunted. "Missed the important bits, I reckon, pure luck. Turns out black dragonkin can disguise as dwarves, who'd have known? You should help that gnome."

The gnome fell onto her rump and clutched her head.

"Stop standing around!" Bolvar snapped at the crowd at the door. "Someone get a healer, these people are _dying_!"

The crowd shook itself out of its stupor and returned to life. Bolvar clenched his jaw, pressing his own hand against Leo's wound. "Hang in there," he said softly. Leo offered him a pale smile. Over the mound of the dragonspawn's corpse his eyes caught the gnome nursing her head. The eyes of horrified witnesses drank in the corpse, before priests shouldered past and into he room.

Light. What the fel was going on?


	3. A New Future

**Chapter Two**

* * *

"Who the _hell_ was that?" snarled Katrana. "It wasn't one of ours - the Suicide Squad were all present and accounted for, I saw them with my own eyes! So who in the name of the elemental planes was _that_?"

"I don't know," Adam Rivers stammered.

"_Don't know_?" Rage boiled in Katrana's belly, fit to burst, but she only allowed it to vent in angry hisses. In spite of the soundproofing spell on her study, it would never do to keep it for granted and scream at the imbecile. "How did a dragonspawn get in here without you finding out? You are chief of palace security, you are chief of _my_ security! Are there others I do not know of within the Palace?"

"I - " Omnarion's human guise looked pale. "Broodmother, there's no way - "

"No way one could get in without you knowing?" Onyxia sneered. "Omnarion, one just _did_, and attempted to assassinate Leonardo Withering _without_ my order! Or did you fail to notice that, Captain?"

"I - "

"You report any draconic presence to me _immediately_, I have drilled you on that a million times before. Did you fail to report this to me, _Captain_?"

Rivers wrung his hands, before prying them apart and straightening. "Broodmother, I honestly was not aware - my men would have reported to me immediately if they had known of a draconic presence."

"Are you hiding something?" Her eyes narrowed.

"No, Broodmother." Rivers shook his head wildly, then fell calm, suppressing his fear.

Coward.

Romathis. It _had_ to be Romathis - who else would it be? The few other black wyrms had scattered across the continents years ago, independents who couldn't care less for power. _What the fel was he thinking_, potentially exposing his own sister like this, risking _both_ their broods?

She was going to have a word with Romathis. Actually, it would be better if she merely wrote him a letter - if she saw him in person she might rip his throat out. Letters didn't have the same effect, but one couldn't kill someone with a letter.

"Interview _everyone_ in the Squad," said Onyxia. "If I find out any of them have hidden this knowledge from me, they are _dead_. Before you do that, launch an investigation, and if you find any tracks inform me at once and _cover_ _them_, for the love of the Titans. Now, leave me."

Omnarion needed no more urging. The captain stumbled out of her office and almost collided into Bolvar Fordragon and Mathias Shaw on the other side. "Beg your pardons, sirs!" he chirruped, before scrambling down the hall and as far away from Katrana Prestor as possible. Shaw blinked at him. Fordragon sighed.

Katrana Prestor glared at them both and beckoned them in. Fordragon walked in with his chin up as if _he_ was the true leader of Stormwind. That stupid, spineless human couldn't herd sheep if he tried. Beside him, the faintest look of trepidation betrayed itself on Mathias Shaw's face. Katrana had barely spoken with him, but a reputation for being difficult came in handy.

"Highlord Fordragon," said Katrana Prestor, forcing her tone to calm levels. "And Master Shaw. Please, sit."

"We shall only be a moment, Lady Prestor." Fordragon remained standing. "I only wanted to inform you that we're doubling palace security until the obsidian threat is sorted out - Master Shaw has offered guards from Stormwind Intelligence personally."

"'Obsidian threat,' Highlord?" Katrana barely paid Shaw a glance. "The concept is laughable. More likely it is merely revenge. How many times has the Brotherhood of Cinders boasted of poaching black dragons in the Steppes and paraded about the Trade District with armour made of their scales? Really, I'm surprised he did not get what was coming to him sooner."

Mathias Shaw twitched, but on what was probably Fordragon's advice, said nothing. Fordragon scowled.

"We're taking this seriously," he said flatly. "The House of Nobles must meet today - "

"No, tomorrow."

"_Tomorrow_? Lady Pres - "

"Tomorrow," said Katrana. "Captain Rivers is launching his investigation immediately, and he cannot report to me if I'm locked in a room being droned at. It must be tomorrow."

"Tomorrow, then." Fordragon scowled, dropping his eyes.

"My men can help with the investigation if necessary," Shaw finally spoke.

"That will not be so," said Katrana. "However I will keep you in mind." If she delayed involvement by at least a day, that should be enough time for even Rivers to cover any tracks. If Rivers _had_ been aware of this dragonspawn attack beforehand, then it would stand to reason he'd cover tracks from her, too - but if she couldn't see any, then neither would SI:7.

Shaw glanced at Fordragon. Fordragon said, "I'm certain Captain Rivers will do everything in his power. I shall call on you if you are needed. Thank you, Master Shaw."

"And we shan't need you." Katrana stood up. "I am afraid I must turn you out - please excuse me, for there are matters requiring my attention - "

"Lady Prestor," said Fordragon. "If I could have a moment - "

"Later," said Katrana. She herded them from the study, closing the door behind her. "Please, Shaw, if it would put you at ease do accept my invitation to attend the meeting tomorrow."

_As if she'd listen to his advice_, Bolvar thought loudly.

The amulet at her throat grew warm with the bond, then cooled.

Katrana paid it no heed.

-o-O-o-

It was hard to keep an eye on the timeline when Hora's head pounded in painful protest. The timeline would split any moment now and with the priest harassing her into interaction, she was going to miss it.

"Two fingers and a thumb, smartass," she said to the priest, who sent her a withering look. "I'm not concussed, I was just dazed!"

He closed his hand and continued his work. Puzzled by the lack of concussion and the confusion within Hora that had faded so quickly, he opted to press gently along her spine for any breakages or fractures from her enthusiastic introduction to the wall. There wasn't, of course - dragon bones were tough no matter what form you were in.

"Stay here for a few hours," the priest said, crinkling his aged head. A wave of a hand, and a renew spell began to tingle Hora's skin. "I cannot explain why you have walked away unharmed, but we need to keep an eye on you just in case there's some sort of delayed reaction."

"Oh, yes," sneered Hora. "I bet my head's going to realise, 'Oh, wait, I should've exploded like a fruit on the cobbles! Let me fix that!' And the next thing you know there's blood everywhere!"

The priest gave her a second dirty look and moved away.

A gaggle of priests tended to Leonardo Withering in a bed not far away. A young blonde priestess seemed to find herself a bit flustered as an older witness rolled his eyes, her hands caressing the rogue's bare torso with golden light. Luckily, his wounds were a simple matter of waving a few healing spells and feeding him troll's blood potion to help him regenerate the blood he'd lost. The weapon had gone in and out cleanly enough, missing the vitals, against all odds. Two people who should have died, according to the priests, walked away _extremely lucky_.

Hora fidgeted in her stained robes, her head still damp from where the blood had been dabbed away by a wet cloth, and looked around. The pure white walls of the Healing Ward were decorated in green and gold instead of the usual Alliance blue motif - green for natural healing, gold to represent the Holy Light. It was a large room, adorned with rows of beds and curtains for privacy - down the hall were the private, long-term rooms, but judging by the resident in the bed opposite Hora, those were only the most elite. Not even new mothers got the privilege, apparently - beside a cradle and an empty bed, a pale woman sat in a chair staring out of the window. Her dark hair looked ratty as it sat on her shoulders, with dark purple smudges under her eyes contrasting her white face. A priestess frowned at her.

"I can't sleep," the woman said. "I haven't slept in days but I just can't sleep."

"Wait here," said the priestess. "I'll give you something for it."

A dwarf lay sleeping in the bed next to Hora's. A night elf tall even by their racial standards sat on the chair beside him, her face furrowed in concern. Curtains rattled on the other side of the ward. Murmurs flowered amongst the priests surrounding Leonardo, before he was finally left alone. "Leave the curtain open," said Leonardo. "I don't want to sleep." He looked to Hora, and gave her a weak smile. "How are you holding up?"

"Headache," said Hora. "You?"

"The magic is doing its work," Leonardo grunted, wincing as he sat up against his pillows. "They want to keep me overnight but let's see if I can't get out in a few hours. Thank you, by the way. I owe you my life."

"You're welcome," said Hora.

And he did, too. Only now did Hora recall that the original guild master of the Brotherhood of Cinders had died under mysterious circumstances in Katrana Prestor's personal training room, lured there by some anonymous attacker. Hora had followed him thinking the timeline split would start with him, but no…

She'd broken the Golden Rule, _do not interfere with the timeline._

The Golden Rule had killed Neltharion, had wiped out his Flight. Not following it had just saved a life. She couldn't stand by anymore, not like her Bronze brothers and sisters who seemed to think mortals were their personal entertainment. She was two hundred years old, she should know better - one life saved could mean a dozen condemned, as Chromie had tried to teach her. But she couldn't just watch people _die_.

Chromie was going to _lose her shit._

But Hora didn't care. Chromie, of all people, should have known better, should understand. But the Chromie Hora knew was fifteen thousand years old - plenty of time to forget the scars existed.

"So you're still around, Sam, eh?" Leo's voice cut into Hora's thoughts.

"Miss Inkweaver to you," grumbled the girl by the cradle. She couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen in human years, by the looks of it. Hora shuffled in her chair, watching, waiting. "Disappointed?"

"Well, um," Leo sounded taken aback. Hora couldn't see the look on his face on the bed, and she strained her memory for _Sam Inkweaver_. Short for "Samantha", she assumed. It didn't sound familiar. "With what was going on…"

"Someone _did_ happen to throw me a bone, Withering, and that is why I am still alive," said Samantha curtly. "Sorry to disappoint you. Katrana Prestor, the woman you loathe so much, is to thank for the fact I did not die giving birth." Samantha gave the man a cold look. "If I was on the streets as your dear friend Norris so wished, I would have."

Out of the corner of her eye, Hora saw Bolvar Fordragon hover awkwardly in the doorway.

"None of us condoned what Norris did," said Leonardo.

"I didn't see you help me, either," said Samantha. "Funny, then, how he didn't get kicked out of the guild until Lady Prestor removed him from the House of Nobles? What he did to me wasn't enough?"

"I doubt you would have died - "

"Easy for _you_ to say, when you weren't terrified for your life or the life of your unborn child. I was on the streets for _three weeks_ before Lady Prestor found me personally." Samantha scoffed. "There were complications in the birth. Mandy could have died - would have, in another reality." _Oh, she had no idea._ "And if you're about to blame me for Norris's punishment - get in line. I get enough people harassing me over it without you helping."

"I, for one," said Bolvar Fordragon, "am grateful he is no longer around. Samantha, congratulations on your birth."

For a moment, Samantha's face twisted into an ugly scowl and it looked as if she was about to deliver a biting retort. But then the girl smoothed the anger away. "Thank you, Highlord."

"What did you name her? Amandine, I believe?" If Bolvar noticed the resentment, he didn't comment on it. His eyes settled on the cradle.

"Yep. Amandine Katrana Inkweaver," said Samantha.

"I believe that's the first time anyone has ever named a child after Lady Prestor."

The new mother slumped in her chair. "I wish you wouldn't give her such a hard time," Sam mumbled unhappily. The poor girl looked on the brink of tears. "She was so kind to me. She saved me."

There.

There it was.

The split.

A golden hue illuminated the room, invisible to the mortals inside. Sounds took on a dim echo - a snore from a nearby bed, the subtle clinking of Fordragon's armour as he shifted onto one leg, a sigh from Withering. A shimmer caught Hora's attention - two versions of Fordragons stood by the door on the same patch of floor, overlapping and translucent.

One frowned. One looked more thoughtful.

Both hesitated.

Already, the frowner grew faint as he spoke quietening words. "Miss Inkweaver, I treat people with the same respect they give others…"

The alternate timeline broke away from its parent, taking with it only one Fordragon - and Hora. It sparkled fresh and new with brilliance, cradling her in its magical warmth.

This one - it was stronger than most. Most alternate realities were weak, fleeting - their parent timelines sometimes cannibalised them, or they died, orphans, in the fabric of the multiverse. Despite being the child of a bastard timeline already corrupted by her interference, it felt firm. Strong. _Possibility_ bubbled.

In the golden light she saw faint images of activity like peering into a crystal ball, soft sounds reaching her ears. Hora watched, transfixed. To the mortals she must be gaping at nothing, but she forgot them as she witnessed scenes unfolding in front of her. This - she'd seen this phenomenon before, but it never ceased to amaze.

In the mist in front of her, Samantha Inkweaver stood in a dark cave illuminated only by flickering firelight and a stream of magma. A man in orange robes stood with one arm curled around her waist, profile obscured by his dark hair. In front of them, a girl no older than six held a torch aloft, casting a glow upon dozens and dozens of black dragon eggs. Suddenly the man hissed and clutched his head with a dark hand, before the image changed.

Katrana Prestor stood in front of her - but it wasn't the Katrana Prestor of Stormwind. Glowing eyes stared past Hora, narrowed in concentration. Purple rivulets, stark against her dead white skin, ran down her face like tears. A skeletal hand, stripped of flesh and skin, clutched a staff as she stood behind a table, cold metal walls forming a backdrop decorated with skulls and horned engravings. Bloodstained chains and hooks hung from the ceilings. Behind an iron maiden, golden eyes watched from the shadows, hidden. "_But how?_" she spoke in Draconic, the fingertips of her good hand smudged with soot, held out in front of her as if her fingers cradled something invisible. "_How did he grow so powerful? How, in so short a time?"_

Now blue light bled into the grey - another cavern, a blue ceiling dappled and splotched with green, light glistening on stalactites, water gurgling nearby. The defiled Katrana stood to one side with a shivering and bundled up Inkweaver while in front of them a Forsaken man paced, hands planted over his ears, eyes screwed shut, grumbling and chanting small affirmations. "_The Steward_," said Samantha in the same language, but with a thick Common accent. Her voice did not sound confident. "_Maybe he's actually a she, and she's a banshee._"

The sounds faded into silence. The golden light and images melted away into cold, white walls as ghosts of a future yet to come returned to their homes.

The voice of the alternate Fordragon brought Hora back to this timeline's present. "Perhaps you're right. It could serve to be more conscious."

_Onyxia_...

She glanced towards Bolvar Fordragon. None of the mortals seemed to have noticed her gawking at empty air. "Obviously," Hora spoke, not even excusing herself for barging in, "there's kindness buried deep beneath her temper. Isn't it beautiful? To see that kindness come to life in the form of a little baby girl who could have died if it not for her?" Hora smiled warmly, feeling the timeline around her strengthen as Bolvar Fordragon continued to gaze at the young mother in deep thought.

Kindness in Onyxia? Surely there would have been no benefit to saving a young mother - a girl Samantha Inkweaver's age? It must have been out of kindness, out of generosity.

And if kindness within Onyxia could be nurtured... perhaps the corruption could be bypassed. Shrunk. It would take nothing short of an about-turn to undo thousands of years of corruption - but Onyxia had been around dragons for all that time. Never humans.

And if Hora had ever learned one thing, it was to never underestimate the capabilities of mortals. Immortals surrounded by other immortals changed slowly - they had all the time in the world, after all. But when mortals entered the picture, with their chaotic personalities and personal growth all crammed into one tiny lifespan, even immortals had to change quickly to cope with them. Chromie had attested to that.

Perhaps she'd see how long she could keep this going for. Just to see what happened. Just to see if Onyxia might have chosen a better path, rather than dying in a hole. Perhaps - perhaps Hora could nudge her. Save the Dragonflight. Maybe even Neltharion could be saved...

Neltharion. Before his corruption, she'd adored him. She was born millenia ago, in a time before he'd betrayed them - to suddenly be propelled into a future, on a completely unrelated job, with him gone…

But he wasn't gone in _this_ one - it wasn't far enough along. He still had hope.

Hora guiltily checked the timeline again and found no signs of her brothers and sisters. If they were going to catch her, they would have done so at the very beginning - she was as good as in the clear. But it wouldn't hurt to erect some barriers, keep her little project hidden… it was probably herself, a week into her future, who was to thank that Chromie hadn't hauled her away by the hair.

Leo sneered.

"The harder the armour," said Hora, pressing on, "the softer the insides, isn't that true?"

Leo grumbled. The priestess appeared from wherever she'd whisked herself away, offering a small vial of green liquid to Sam. "Drink this," she soothed. "It will help you sleep. We'll take care of the babe if she wakes."

"I believe Lady Prestor's a good person," said Hora, as Sam settled in her bed and the priestess drew the curtains around to hide her, "if one with a lot of anger. I wonder what she's been through that she feels she has to treat people that way."

"Young one," said Fordragon. "What is your name?"

_Young? Ha!_ "Hora," she answered. Then, an idea struck her - it was horribly cheesy, but oh, she _loved_ this kind of thing. And a plan began to form in her mind. She knew history… she could change it. Perhaps, in this timeline, the Black Dragonflight may survive…

It _had_ to work.

"Hora Peddlefeet, Your Lordship," said Hora, resisting the urge to giggle when Fordragon didn't even bat an eyelid. "Pleased to meet you!"


	4. Just Deserts

**Chapter Three**

* * *

"Oh. It's _you_."

Katrana Prestor wasn't Katrana Prestor without an armoury of chilly greetings stashed inside her sleeve.

She unlocked the door and led Bolvar into her dim study, and already he felt his resolution to be kind to her grow thin at her tone, but he kept his temper in check. He had to be patient. Chances were nobody else had ever been patient with the poor woman in her life. Especially Daval Prestor...

Ever since speaking with Leonardo, Miss Inkweaver and Miss Peddlefeet, his insides had marinaded in guilt. He'd forgotten about his first meeting with Feral Kat so long ago - forgotten how she'd paled at the mention of being in trouble with her father. He was so young and _stupid_ back then, had forgotten about her, forgotten her reaction. But now, years later, jigsaw pieces fell into place, and the partly-formed picture they implied disturbed him…

A picture he could have prevented, if only he'd been intelligent enough to see it.

"This dragon drama is quite inconvenient." Her voice cut into his thoughts. Bolvar blinked in the bright daylight as Katrana Prestor opened the curtains, light spilling into the room.

"Yes," he said, unable to plug his leaking sarcasm. "Black dragons in Stormwind Keep are _mighty_ inconvenient, wouldn't you say?"

That earned him a dirty look, and his conscience reminded him to hold his tongue. He almost smiled at her to show it was in jest, but… no. She'd think it implied mockery, and that would only make her angrier.

Even a fool such as he, who was stupid enough to press her buttons every once in a while, knew when to let sleeping dragons lie.

_Besides_, he thought, another familiar pang of guilt tapping him on the shoulder, _I provoke her enough already._

"This is going to get in the way of everything," she hissed, gesturing to a seat in front of her desk as she threw herself into her own chair, opening and shutting rattling drawers. She fished out some parchment. "Was there something you wanted to see me for that could not wait until the meeting later?"

Here was his chance to convince her. She never responded well when people ganged up on her - on the extremely rare occasion he had converted her to his point of view, it had always been just the two of them speaking. "The House of Noble are likely to want to send a force out to the Steppes."

Katrana Prestor sneered. "What did I tell you yesterday?" she said. "That the dragons are probably looking for revenge because Withering's Lightforsaken guild insists on poaching them. If a collective of dragons walked right in here and slaughtered our people and captured our young, would you merely stand by?"

And yet, Bolvar thought as he suppressed a sigh, Katrana Prestor had seemed completely fine with gifting Anduin Wrynn a whelp for the boy's tenth birthday, much to Bolvar's indignation, but he didn't want to argue over trivialities. Best to save his energy for the more important things. "Lady Prestor, with all due respect - "

"Ah, that means you're about to employ none."

Damn her wit. "We had an infiltrator in Stormwind Keep. If nothing else, that is a _serious_ security breach." What did he have to do, hit her over the head with a giant sign?

"I still await an update from Rivers," said Katrana Prestor. "From what it appears so far, the dragonspawn merely appeared one day in disguise, made his attempt shortly after and then he was killed. Our security has been increased accordingly, do not fear. Maeqa has received a raise and will be working around the clock to protect Anduin until Mathias Shaw can present to us additional bodyguards."

Anduin was going to be thrilled about _that_. In spite of having Maeqa or Soris help bathe him in his very young years, he hated the lack of privacy that having a bodyguard brought him. Sometimes it seemed like Anduin was suffocating under all the company. Anduin could deal with Maeqa or Soris pacing the bathroom and averting their eyes as he bathed - but a stranger? He'd be humiliated.

... But it was necessary. He was the _prince_, after all. The only Wrynn. If anything happened to him...

Gods. It'd be hard to keep Katrana Prestor away from wrangling fully-fledged power in the political shitstorm that would surely follow. Bolvar let her have her way far more often than he should as it was, and she took initiative - like now - more than he liked. Half the time he didn't even know how she _did_ it - he could be standing up to her one moment, and in the next he'd grant her permission to do something or other and half the time he barely remembered it afterwards. Infuriatingly enough, Katrana Prestor had always been his weakness. He always hated arguing, and Katrana Prestor exploited that mercilessly.

But he was a sodding politician. He was practically paid to argue.

"It is also time to end the search for King Varian," Lady Prestor continued.

Bolvar Fordragon's train of thought ground to a halt. "I - what?"

Lady Prestor sat opposite him with her elbows on her desk, chin propped up in her hands. That had to be the most casual position he'd ever seen her in - but then, whenever Prestor felt like being unprofessional, she damn well did as she liked and nobody dared argue. The severe look, as it always did, remained. Bolvar sometimes wondered if the cold stare was tattooed into her face. "There has been no sign of him in eight months. So much energy and money, too much, has been poured into a man who is surely dead."

... Anduin wasn't going to like _this_ either.

"We are wasting resources should be put into other things." Finally, Prestor leaned back in her chair, tapping the wooden arm. She commented sardonically, "Like slaying dragons, apparently."

Talking to his chief advisor and trying to maintain the flow of conversation was like herding cats. Hadn't he been speaking about the not-yet existent team just a moment ago?

"I..." He sighed. "Perhaps you are right. Varian Wrynn isn't coming back."

Once upon a time, he pitied whoever would end up with Katrana Prestor on their hands. Somewhere, out there, the personification of karma was having a good snicker at his expense.

Lady Prestor's tapping nails were stark against the backdrop of silence. Varian... he'd grown up with Varian. So had Kat, in a way. To know someone who'd been practically a brother to him was never coming back, would never be found...

It pained him, and branded him with more guilt. He should have done better. There were so many things in retrospect they could have done when Varian first went missing that nobody had thought to do at first. He'd done nothing but let Varian down again and again.

"Anduin is not going to be happy," Bolvar murmured, recalling the sullen pre-teen to his mind's eye. "But it will be arranged. I'll send out letters to the appropriate people. He's gone. We should let him go." He felt a vague warmth at his throat, but as soon as his mind registered the faint weight of the amulet he wore there, the memory slipped his mind and the sensation was forgotten.

"Anduin will cope."

That was Katrana Prestor — a strong woman to a fault who assumed everyone else was the same. In an odd way that was a good influence on Anduin. While everyone else coddled the boy, Katrana taught him independence and self sufficiency.

"He's only ten," said Bolvar.

"Hardly 'only'," said Prestor. "Children are much more capable than we adults give them credit for."

"You were very developed for your age at ten, that does not mean Anduin is the same."

"And he isn't?" Prestor rose her eyebrows.

She was right. Again. Anduin Wrynn wasn't a genius, by any means, especially not to the extent little Kat had been, but the boy was bright. Sometimes he acted several years older than he was, with wisdom that even some adults lacked - though that did not stop him from acting as a boy occasionally. When Sam Inkweaver had become his nanny he'd stood up to those who would have given her grief just like Katrana had. It was odd, almost, how much he could be like Katrana Prestor, be the goodness she wasn't. The boy rarely allowed himself to call her "Aunt Katrana" as he'd been invited to, since the woman was as good as his adoptive mother, but as time wore on Bolvar could, more and more, see Katrana within the boy.

And, perhaps, the other way around. Perhaps it was thanks to Anduin that Katrana had showed a rare sliver of kindness…

"Why did you help Samantha?" he said.

Lady Prestor's hard eyes narrowed. A jaded part of Bolvar thought, _uh oh_. "Why do you preach of nobility?" she said, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms, looking at him critically. Another bad sign. In anyone else it would mean a dressing down was imminent, but in Katrana Prestor it meant he was about to be eaten for breakfast. "Of doing what is right?"

He couldn't see where this was going. One would think Prestor was merely saying she was doing the right thing, but her posture and her body language said otherwise. Bolvar Fordragon was about to be ripped a new one. "Because it's what should be done," said Bolvar carefully.

"Oh?" Katrana Prestor rose her eyebrows, and Bolvar knew by that small gesture he'd failed whatever invisible test she'd set him. "And where were _you_ when Norris boasted loudly to his friends of sleeping with a 'desperate kitchen maid?' Where were you when she spoke of her pregnancy to him, and his response was to drag her name through the mud?" Prestor spoke calmly, holding his eyes, refusing to let him look away. "Where were _you_ when she was fired and thrown out of the palace for it? Where were you when his nitwit friends ganged up on her, labelling her a whore and encouraging others to do the same?"

She sneered. "How can you speak of doing the right thing when you stood by and let it happen? I saw none of this so-called 'Stormwind nobility' this city likes to speak of. I didn't see you stand up for her." Her voice rose. "I didn't see _you_ show some spine. How is she in the wrong, how was she in the wrong _at all_?" Her fist clenched. "Why did he walk away unscathed? Is that what true Stormwind justice is, is _that_ what Stormwind, the so-called beacon of humanity, stands for?

"Oh, no, Fordragon. I'm not letting that injustice happen. Not while I'm alive, not while I'm here. I removed him, the true criminal. And I will not let him near her again."

Shame burned a passage through his chest.

Nobody _had_ spoken up for the little maid who'd been so used by a playboy noble. Nobody had warned the lovestruck girl, nobody had stood up for her when her superiors fired her for the shame of being pregnant out of wedlock.

Bolvar hadn't. It hadn't even occurred to him she was a living, breathing human being who would suffer, so caught up in his mind and his own stresses he had been. She'd just been another person. Another extra on the stage of life. Someone who faded away when he was not looking.

But life went on. Bolvar was not the centre of the world, was far from it, and her life played on when his curtains obscured her from his view.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

That only drew more of her ire. "Apologies fix _nothing_, and even if they did I'm hardly the one you should apologise to," she spat. "Do not believe I am oblivious to what they say about me, Fordragon, not for one moment. Them speaking of me as if I am some kind of black-hearted monster just because I don't coddle the infantile nobles in this keep, as if I'm some witch who wouldn't know what basic, so-called human decency is if it ran me down with a horse. I'm not some insect on the bottom of their shoes. Samantha Inkweaver deserved justice, and I was the only one who gave it to her. True justice would have been killing him." She sat back in her chair, still holding his gaze unblinkingly. "Be glad I refrained from that."

Sometimes, talking to Katrana Prestor was like asking the Light for a reason as to why you were a bad person, only for it to ask you to wait ten minutes as it wrote out a list. Poor, poor Samantha...

"It won't happen again," he said, standing up. "I shan't keep my eyes closed any longer. Lady Prestor - I want to be dependable. Someone worth working with, someone worth leading Stormwind. I regret what happened, our poor action - and thank you for doing what the rest of us did not."

That caused an odd flash in her eyes, and a slight cant of the head. Was she surprised he didn't defend himself? That he didn't argue back?

"There is no excuse for my behaviour," he said. "Or lack of it. It will not happen again."

She pressed her lips into a long, hard line.

"For now, I must go," said Bolvar. "The assembly will be soon, I shall see you there."

Appearing to remember herself, Katrana Prestor stood up. "Your Lordship," she said, with a stiff bow.

"Lady Prestor," he said, returning it, before he turned to leave.

On the way out, he almost bumped into Captain Adam Rivers, who nearly lost the grip of a thick book in his hands. "Pardon me, my Lord," said Rivers, quickly bowing.

"How is the investigation coming along?" said Bolvar. "Are you certain you do not need the aid of Stormwind Intelligence?"

"I'm about to report to Lady Prestor on that very issue, as a matter of fact, given her expertise on the subject of dragons," said Rivers. Bolvar's eyes slid to the book in Rivers' hand - that didn't look like a report, looked more like a biography of... someone or other, Bolvar couldn't quite make out the name hidden under the man's hand. "A verbal report, my lord," River's lip twitched in a faint smirk. "This is something else altogether." He rose his hand to knock on the doorframe. "My lady..."

"I want to hear this report as well."

Katrana Prestor, who'd heard from inside, sighed. "You better come in again, then," she said, fixing her glare on Bolvar as Adam Rivers put the book on her desk. She didn't look at it twice as Rivers gave his report - only to hear the entire thing was an embarrassment for Stormwind security. The so-called Ironforge noble had merely walked in like he owned the place, and nobody had once challenged him or thought to question his identity.

Rivers needed a good talking-to. By the look on Prestor's face, he was about to get more than that.

As Bolvar Fordragon walked away after having watched Rivers get an even more severe lecture than he had, he mused on the book placed on Prestor's desk that she had not even acknowledged. Adam Rivers often brought books to Lady Prestor - indeed, for all the woman yelled at him, Rivers seemed to be the only person she could tolerate for a given amount of time.

He sincerely hoped Rivers wasn't attempting to court her, for the man's own good. Bolvar shook his head sadly at the thought. Courting the woman must be like picking up a prickly porcupine that was on fire and had acid in its quills _without_ trying to damage yourself, let alone kill yourself in the process.

"Captain," said Bolvar. "Before you go…"

Rivers had been about to peel away from the Highlord towards the training rooms. "My Lord?" he said.

"For all the years I've been here, I've never asked - why do the men and women who guard the throne room call themselves the Suicide Squad?"

Rivers' face twisted in a smirk. "Because if a Horde army charged up the corridor, it would be suicide to fight them!" He snickered.

Bolvar wasn't quite sure that was the answer. Fel - the Squad was very tight-knit and exclusive even socially, and only ever spoke to each other. For Reginald to even get a chance to get into their ranks had been a once in a lifetime opportunity. "I see."

"By your leave, my Lord," Rivers bowed.

Bolvar let him go, puzzling on the issue for only a moment. But there was a meeting coming up, and that quickly enough overtook his thoughts.

* * *

_**A/N**__: Thank you all for your kind reviews!_

_**Kai:**__ Whoops, yes - never fear, the Romathis thing shall be explained soon enough! Thank you, I'm glad you like it and I hope I can keep it up!_

_**Etrg:**__ Thank you! I shall most definitely continue, and I will make sure I finish, too!_


	5. Diminishing Returns

_**A/N:** Thank you for the reviews! I'm glad people are enjoying this._

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

For all their arrogant preaching about the nobility of humans, they paid no heed to the victims of their hypocrisy.

Such a thing would never have happened to Samantha Inkweaver in Black Dragon society — there were the Norrises of the Dragonflight, but at least the dragons around them both would have quickly put him in his place for being so stupid as to think the girl magically got pregnant on her own. Dragons didn't shame each other for mating, unlike humans, who seemed to think sex was the most horrible thing one could _ever_ do. (But then, when they had such ugly mates as _each other_, was it really any wonder? Even humans couldn't stand to mate with humans!) It was a part of life, and the Black Dragonflight realised that. But they did shame each other for excuses, for scapegoats, for not taking responsibility, and Norris had done all three. He'd deserved everything he got, the miserable little git. Samantha would have been shamed for not killing him or fighting back, but she wouldn't have been treated badly for crimes she was not guilty of.

Norris had been a _vile_ man. Humans were awful, but Norris was worse, and Onyxia had been glad to get rid of him — and she was not the only one. Indeed, Katrana Prestor stopped being so reviled among the women after that — Samantha Inkweaver wasn't the first woman whose reputation Norris had ruined.

One had to wonder why the girl was so stupid as to get involved in the first place. But Inkweaver had been a new maid at that point. Taken off the streets, an ex-rogue. Probably an ex-prostitute, too, unless she'd been a good enough thief. Perhaps she'd been unaware of the man's reputation. Still stupid — but excusable stupidity.

The hot October day had long since gone, chased away by early winter frost as if the weather was compensating for its dreadful mistake. Footsteps echoed on the cold, white stone. Non-humans hovered by the grand double doors — an elf, a gnome and a dwarf.

It sounded like a bad human joke. _An elf, a gnome and a dwarf walk into a bar…_

"My lady," said the elf as soon as his eyes lay upon her. "May I inquire as to why our presence is disallowed?"

"Forgive us, Ambassador," said Katrana. The Darnassian diplomat hurriedly bowed — stupid mortals, always forgetting their own damned customs. "But at this time this is a matter we wish to discuss only among our own people, given it is our keep that was infiltrated. You will be notified of the results of this meeting."

The ambassadors exchanged glances. Diplomats knew better than to step on the toes of their hosts, and so with reluctant acquiescence the three of them nodded. "With your permission I would like to remain here, Lady Prestor," said the Tinkertown ambassador. "So as to make updates more convenient."

Katrana stared at them coldly. "The servants are at your disposal."

Diplomats. Emissaries. Ambassadors. Three words that meant the same thing: idiots playing nice. It was harder to insist upon change when you represented an entire race, when disagreements between two ambassadors spelled a disagreement between many more people.

She excused herself and stepped into the assembly chamber beyond. A domed roof soared above her, the white stone welcoming the cold of the upcoming winter, sheltering clusters of chairs and rows of tables. Though "assemblies" implied large gatherings, such things were rare. Nobles who wanted to put in their two copper came, the rest often didn't deign to turn up, living on their nobility but rarely doing something with the privilege. Parliament didn't have much power, Katrana had seen to that long ago, but Fordragon liked to be "fair and just" and still held votes anyway. Katrana had forced him to ignore others' opinions more than once to play to her advantage. Still, she had to give the image that she cared what the nobles had to say.

Today, however, there were more than usual. They stood in small gatherings, and the dragon within her caught whiffs of fear in the still air. Some glanced to her, looking comforted by her presence — she was the resident expert on dragons, after all — but others looked significantly less so, their faces becoming withdrawn, eyes hard when they caught sight of her. Lord Fletcher, curiously enough, was one of them - Fletcher was one of the few nobles who held no fear of dragons.

This would be a difficult mess to clean up.

Leonardo Withering, representing the top guild of the Alliance, had turned up with his top warrior, a redheaded dwarf with glazed-over eyes who looked as if she wanted nothing more than to get out of the hall and get drunk. Leonardo was still sore, Katrana could see from the way he winced slightly as he sank into his seat, but the priests had done a good job. The gnome who'd saved him was conspicuously absent, whoever she had been. Captain Rivers had stationed two members of the Suicide Squad by the door, and Katrana caught sight of the rest of them dotted at intervals along the walls. They all stared, as if one, at a single person…

Reginald Windsor, who was having a soft word with Withering. Mathias Shaw followed them with his eyes. The two rogues standing at his shoulders did the same.

Windsor? He was nobody of consequence, aside from his ambitions to get into the Suicide Squad - which he never would. The Suicide Squad were dragonspawn hand picked from Romathis's elite especially for his sister, and for a human to infiltrate them would be nothing short of a humiliation Onyxia would never live down.

She searched the crowd for a crown of chocolate hair, and homed in on Fordragon, who stood in a dream. "What is Windsor doing here?" she said flatly.

Did Fordragon know something she didn't? His eyes barely flicked over to his two childhood friends. "He has every right to be here. Leo wanted him."

She listened carefully, but his mind was curiously quiet on the issue.

Whatever reason for Windsor's presence, Katrana doubted it was something to concern herself over. The Drakefire Amulet always worked in a pinch, and the situation may end up calling for her to utilise it. Still, she preferred not to use it unless she had to; diminishing returns had begun to kick in during the last few years. It was small things here and there, a natural side effect of using magic upon someone else, but over the years it had grown. Fordragon had worn it so long that he and Katrana had become magically connected. It had started only a few years ago, when Onyxia had begun to hear whispers whenever Fordragon was agitated. Over time, it had grown until whenever Fordragon was emotional enough, he broadcasted his thoughts loud and clear whether she wanted him to or not.

In the very beginning he'd heard _her_ thoughts as well, though he had brushed it off as an overactive imagination. She'd nipped it in the bud quickly enough, erecting wards over her own mind.

The assembly began as they all did - dull. All rose, all were seated, Fordragon stayed standing and gave a spartan summary of events - a dragonspawn had showed up out of nowhere and attacked Leonardo Withering. Naturally, the humans around him made a very simple issue very complicated with their wild conspiracy theories (some of which were correct), worries of war and their anxiety. Their fear fed upon each other and grew into a suffocating cloud.

Let them get hysterical. Then shut it down, make them all look foolish, and they'd be too embarrassed to pursue the matter further. Humans were almost as sensitive to humiliation as dragons were.

Finally, a noble called out for Katrana's opinion, and she rose to speak fluidly before anyone could interrupt.

"The infiltrator was a very powerful dragonspawn," she said, "as indicated by the leathery wings - very rarely do dragonspawn own such wings, except for their greatest fighters." Nothing humanity didn't know already. "It is highly unusual to send one lone, yet powerful dragonspawn, however due to this it is safe to assume he came alone, perhaps believing himself competent enough to get the job done. Investigation has been undertaken into the background of the dwarf noble he claimed to be, and it was found to be shallow enough that Ironforge knew not this false identity existed. Perhaps he'd only been in disguise for a matter of _days_."

Pathetic.

She looked around the room, meeting eyes with her stern frown. Most dropped theirs in response. "My analysis of possible motives leads me to one conclusion - elimination of a perceived threat. Note that the dragonspawn attempted to kill Leonardo Withering and had lured him away, not Bolvar Fordragon, myself, nor Anduin Wrynn. I am the biggest threat to the Dragonflights with my extensive knowledge of their behaviour, something which is common knowledge in Stormwind and yet they choose _Withering_.

"Leonardo Withering is head of the Brotherhood of Cinders, a guild which has been known to infiltrate the Steppes and poach dragonkin for their scales as well as capturing their young to sell." She didn't rock on her heels, didn't move, stood straight as a statue. "Therefore it is reasonable to assume they intended to send a message for us to cease, a warning."

Murmurs broke out, but Katrana Prestor continued before they could rise. "Would we not do the same if our children were captured and kept as pets? If dragons paraded about in their cities in clothes made of human skin?"

One of the other nobles rose - Tariona White, a golden-haired woman five or six years older than the Prestor guise. "With all due respect, Lady Prestor," she said - oh, how Onyxia _loathed_ that phrase - "Did you not gift young Anduin Wrynn a dragon whelpling?"

_Whelp, you fool, Jettion is a __whelp__!_ "If you wish to personally return Jettion, you have my permission to do so," said Katrana.

Just as she suspected, Lady White dropped the idea and sat back down. Whispers rustled their way through the chamber, echoing on the high roof, and glances were cast in Leo Withering's direction.

He looked unamused.

When Lord Stephen Fletcher stood up, Katrana returned to her seat. "I agree with Lady Prestor," the grey-haired man said, face severe and lined. "I am no expert on dragonkin, however it's common sense - if the Brotherhood insist on provoking the Black Dragonflight, why are we surprised they struck back? I suggest we impose a law upon guilds restricting their entrance in the Steppes - or better yet, cease all activity there completely. To be very frank, it's stupid to stick your hand in the fire and then wonder why it burned you."

_That_ was a surprise to Katrana - and to the other nobles, who were left blinking. Withering clenched his jaw. Fordragon scowled.

Mathias Shaw rose. "I would like it to be noted," the man said simply, "that nobody knew the dragonspawn was in here to begin with. There could be more, and we would have little idea. This could be the beginning of a bigger attack by Nefarian."

Nefarian. That was the name mortals gave Romathis. Romathis had embraced it with malicious joy, naming his human identity Lord Nefarius in a tip of the hat to human ignorance.

Katrana Prestor sighed loudly. "Not even dragons would be so stupid as to let _one_ solitary dragonspawn attack prematurely before an invasion," she said, hating every word she spoke. "And do we not know everyone here by name? Few people were familiar with the supposed Ironforge envoy, and that is how the dragonspawn made his attack. If someone were in disguise among us we would know. Hence why the marked absence of the diplomats, I should note, from this meeting."

"There are servants," said Shaw. "Gardeners. The Keep has dozens upon dozens of staff, who - "

" — are known by name by other staff," continued Prestor. "Anyone with half a brain who lives here knows all the servants by face."

Leonardo finally spoke. "I've seen a lot of twisted garbage in the Steppes," he said. "Orcs threatening Redridge and rampaging through, spreading out to take our land. Nobody here ever pays attention because they're all stuck in books and posh clothing. I've been _out there_, when was the last time any of you were? We need to fight them now, nip them in the bud!"

"I don't recall seeing any orc assassins about the Keep, Master Withering," said Prestor coolly.

"That's hardly the point!"

"Even if your fearmongering was true, we cannot afford to lower global defences further. War is not a game. Our soldiers - "

"— Are fighting where they can barely do any work!" Withering cut her off. Katrana narrowed her eyes. "Arathi Basin? Alterac Valley? That's too far away to make us a difference! Withdraw them, send them home, let them defend _our_ land for once."

Oh, how right Withering was. He had _no_ idea how correct he was - or perhaps he did. He was a liability worth keeping a close eye on.

"I would _love_ to watch you explain to the diplomats outside why you think it is prudent to abandon our allies in their time of need, all on the basis of some speculation," Katrana drawled. "Where is your proof? Oh, you say you've seen some terrible things - but how do we know you're not exaggerating? As a single man who doesn't have a bird's eye view of the situation, how can you know what is prudent to do and what isn't?"

Mathias Shaw rose a hand. "May I suggest a compromise?"

"Your opinion is always welcome, Master Shaw," Fordragon jumped in.

Katrana bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a hiss.

"I suggest we send a small team in to scout the situation, make reports — find the proof so desperately sought for — and return quickly," said Shaw. "It's not expensive, we would not send anyone we could not spare, and a small group of people who keep their head down shouldn't provoke the Black Dragonflight whether or not a terrible conflict is on the horizon. I'm willing to send volunteers from Stormwind Intelligence, if need be."

Reginald Windsor leapt on the chance like a feral cat on a dying mouse. "I will go," he said. "A group of rogues, warriors and a couple of priests and we'd be good. A well-balanced group can achieve more ends."

And just like that, the snowball rolled down the hill. Fordragon said, "That's a good idea. A very smart one, too — we _do_ need those reports."

"Let me ask," said Katrana. Shaw's eyes narrowed slightly, as did Windsor's, "how you can think _one_ dragonspawn is enough cause to bandy about the word 'war' as if the Dark Portal were open again," _If only_, she thought. _If only,_ "but you think the Black Dragonflight would think nothing of half a dozen dunderheads running amok in the Steppes?"

"They would only be scouts," said Mathias Shaw. "The mission would only involve fighting in self-defence."

"Ah," said Katrana, "and if they should strike first, also believing it's in self defence in the name of preventative measures, what do you do then? Then you would be on a slippery slope and we'd all be in trouble thanks to this warmongering. Do you _want_ to anger them further? Is everybody here so _set_ on the war everyone seems to see? Open your eyes, people."

"Stormwind Intelligence is the most discreet organisation we have," said Bolvar Fordragon. "As long as they are present, they _will_ be discreet. The dragons might not even notice them come and go."

Oh, they _would_.

But to Katrana's consternation, murmurs of agreement broke out. As yet another noble spoke up to offer his support, Katrana leaned back in her chair and practiced some discretion of her own - her fingertips brushed the amulet that hung around her neck. It grew warm against her skin.

Magic. It was a glorious, glorious thing, and humans were always determined to file it into categories, not realising other magical classes existed other than the ones that riddled Withering's guild. They didn't know about manipulations of the mind beyond the pale imitation of mind control magic shadow priests utilised.

In front of her imagination's eye Bolvar's mind glowed dimly, a golden orb. She treated it like the most fragile of eggs, brushing against it, planting ideas when he did not look, subtly steering his mind in the direction she wanted with thoughts as back up in case he stopped to wonder why. He would think he'd come up with them himself. _Katrana's right,_ she told him in his voice._ This will end in disaster. The dragons __will__ notice. Everyone here just looks for war, for cheap excitement. They are not soldiers, they do not know what war truly is. The dragons aren't a threat. Who are we to run in there and slaughter them? They should be left alone._

Fordragon paused, entertaining the thoughts, and Katrana withdrew. He watched as Stephen Fletcher stood up and argued against the idea with far more anger than Katrana had, causing Windsor to scowl and Withering to clench his fists. Bolvar's thought processes worked too silently for Katrana to hear.

Then it spoke, loud and clear: _No. I have support now. I'm not going to squander it._

It was like being slapped in the face. It left Katrana blinking. _What?_ She'd _never_ failed before.

She sprung back in retaliation. Though she was still careful, she sowed doubt in Bolvar's mind with more force. Still, he rebuffed her, brushing off her attacks as if it were water off a duck's back. Finally, he stood up, leaving her stunned. "This will go ahead," he said firmly. "I appreciate your input, Lord Fletcher — I appreciate the input of _everyone_ assembled here today — but we cannot afford to be blind. At worst, we are prepared. At best, we find out the dragons should be left alone."

That _wretch_.

But - it would have to slide. Katrana Prestor had to pick her battles carefully, and it would look suspicious if she disagreed too vocally — the nobles all nodded in agreement, relieved smiles breaking out on the faces present. Even Fletcher sat back with a curt nod, scowl gone. Instead, she levelled her best chilly look in Fordragon's direction and sat back in her chair. Romathis could deal with five or six mortals. She'd send him a warning, he'd keep his brood clear of them as much as was reasonable - and they'd still lack their proof. Worst case scenario, they could mysteriously disappear — and the Suicide Squad could fabricate desertions, abandonment and betrayal within the group to make it appear as if it had fallen apart.

Easy.

"Won't you _ever_ learn to respect the forces of nature?" was the last thing Katrana said to the assembly before it was adjourned. "Did your mothers never teach you to leave wild animals alone, lest they bite you?"

"She sounds like a blasted druid, I swear," Katrana overheard Withering's dwarf say as all those present began to file out. "Sure, I'll leave that wild wolf alone, and I'll let it walk right into my house while I'm at it!"

"Katrana Prestor," said a voice, and Katrana turned to see Lord Fletcher behind her, grey hair falling into his eyes. But all he did was give her a nod before he breezed past.

Katrana's thoughts seethed. The amulet had grown too weak to be reliable. The law of diminishing returns clamped its teeth down on her prime plan, and she'd have to find another way to manipulate Fordragon. After so many years it was inevitable.

... But she never thought she'd be around humans for so long. She thought they'd all be dead by now, that the army Romathis was building would have been gathered long ago. The experiments with the chromatic flight had taken far longer than they'd both anticipated.

To be around humans was a curse, and Katrana had been around them for thirty years. Black dragons were lonely creatures by nature, unless they sought the company of a mate or a brood, but even they had the luxury of being able to join their kin whenever they chose. Katrana had no such luxury. Her only company was her inferiors, and the stupid animals that surrounded her. Her mate had died years ago, her daughter was in Dustwallow Marsh, her brother had his own brood to run and Onyxia's only other living sibling was most likely dead — and even if he wasn't dead, he was in another world, beyond her reach, beyond advice.

Sabellian, her favourite brother, had always been wise and patient. He'd been an oddity within the Black Dragonflight, but for that very reason his wisdom held more gems than anyone else's. After all, what Katrana Prestor represented was the unconventional, a dragon living amongst humans. And who was a better ally in achieving the unusual than someone who was unusual himself?

It was thanks to Sabellian that Onyxia had come to take Orion as a mate. Orion had impressed her, being one of the few Black Dragons that accepted and even encouraged Sabellian's quirks. He'd been a bridge between Sabellian and the conventions of the Black Dragonflight even more than Sabellian's female mates had been. Anyone who understood the value within Sabellian was someone Onyxia admired. The only reason Onyxia stood within the Keep today, and not Sabellian, was because their father had failed to see that value. Sabellian had _wanted_ to pose as Daval Prestor's son, but Deathwing had shoved it on his daughter's back instead.

Orion had died in the Steppes. Died doing Romathis' bidding. Died because of the Brotherhood, who'd sought out his scales. His and Onyxia's children slept within their shells in the Wyrmbog, eggs that had been ready to hatch from day one but waited, gathering strength. They would never know Sabellian' and Orion's weaknesses — but they would never know their wisdom, nor their skill at observation. And if Stormwind had its way, they would never know life outside the egg.

Fordragon had to be dealt with, put under control, one way or another.

Her children's lives depended on it.


	6. What Must Be Done

_**A/N:**__ Parts of this chapter are going to look familiar if you read the old version of TOD, but I'm trying to avoid confusion and mixing them up where I can for the sake of the old readers. Sorry!_

_Thank you all for the very kind reviews, it's great encouragement. :)_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

"Excuse me, excuse me — sorry, Stout, now is _not_ the time — pardon, my Lady, I — _Bolvar!_ _Get back here!_"

"I don't know why you attended," said Bolvar, eyes dull as Leo caught up to him. "You should be resting."

"I'm fine," said Leo. His side hurt like hell, but he could get up and walk without killing himself and that was good enough. "I need to talk to you."

Bolvar hesitated, looking over to Prestor. She hovered beside a window, glaring holes in Leo's head. "I think she would want me to explain myself —"

"Please, Bolvar," said Leo. "_Now_."

Bolvar turned his angry green eyes on him. "I don't need _your_ hostility."

Leo blinked, stunned. "And I mean none at all!" he said quickly.

But Bolvar's sour expression didn't fade as they both turned away from Katrana Prestor, who did not follow them into the hallway. "It's going to take _weeks_ to calm her down," he growled as they left the lingering crowd behind. "You know what she's like."

"She's your advisor, not your damn wife," Leo found himself snapping under his breath. "Let her hold her grudges, for all the good it'll do her. Don't baby her."

"Easy for you to say," said Bolvar. "You don't have to deal with her day in and day out."

"And neither should you," Leo admonished. "Stand up to her, tell her where she can shove it."

"She's a noble, Leo," said Bolvar. "I can't exactly go around telling nobles to shove their damned attitudes where the sun doesn't shine." He shot Leo another glare. "And _you_ would do well to remember your place!"

Fel! He was Bolvar's bloody friend, what was all this _remember your place_ crap? "Then tell them to shove it where the sun doesn't shine... _politely_."

The weak joke worked. Bolvar chuckled sheepishly, shaking his head — he always seemed to hide his laughter, and it saddened Leo to see. Bolvar rarely laughed to begin with these days, but it was even less so now with that harpy breathing down his neck. Bolvar laughed as if every joyful moment was a guilty secret, with shame purging the true life from his smile before it could see the light of day.

Leo knew what it was like. It was the curse of being a leader — as the guild master of the Brotherhood, he knew all-too well what it was like. But he was fortunate enough to only have a hundred people depending on him. Bolvar had far, far more, and that wasn't counting the other races who looked up to the humans to lead.

In his study, Bolvar fished two shot glasses from his cabinet and filled them both with amber liquid. "We need it," he said flatly.

Leo sighed as he watched his friend down the first shot before pouring another. "Just don't tell anyone," said Bolvar, sipping at the second helping before putting it down. "At least the meeting went better than I thought — I half expected Lady Prestor to throw an enormous fit. How can I help you?"

Leo shook his head, taking his glass. "You don't need to _help_ me, Bolvar. I'm your friend."

Bolvar sat on the edge of his desk, glass in hand. "But you wanted to talk to me about something regarding the assembly, didn't you?"

Leo was losing him. Since King Varian had disappeared, Bolvar had been… _different_, with the joy dying from his eyes and his smiles becoming rarer and rarer. It was that damn Prestor's influence, Leo was sure. She was worse than a nagging wife, but unlike a nagging wife you couldn't divorce her. It dragged Bolvar down to have to placate that _bitch_ as if she was some kind of toddler wanting some kind of toy and refusing to play nice. When Katrana wanted something, she got it — whether tomorrow or a year from now. It had taken her seven solid months of constant nagging before she managed to dismantle the House of Noble's power. Bolvar had simply learned that to get her to shut the hell up, he had to give it to her sooner. Thankfully for Prestor, the nobles hadn't kicked up too much of a fuss. They trusted Fordragon.

Well. They did, once. These days, most of them weren't so sure, becoming as positive as Leo that Katrana was the one who _really_ held the power…

"We need to attack the Steppes," said Leo flatly. "I don't know what Prestor's issue is, but that was an attempted _assassination_, and if that isn't an act of war I don't know what is."

"Yes," said Bolvar, in a dead tone. He stared into space as if not quite registering Leo's presence, shot glass forgotten in his hand. "I'm sorry you - I'm sorry about what happened to you, Leo. But war is not the answer. We need proof of such things before we go shooting ourselves in the foot."

"I've _seen_ what happens out in the Steppes, in Redridge - "

" - but until you bring concrete proof to the nobles to convince them, we can't do anything," said Bolvar.

There he went. Parroting Prestor's words.

"Do you really think I can stand against the entire damned House of Nobles without evidence and go, 'oh, trust me, it'll be _fine_!'" Fordragon sneered.

"You don't need to listen to the House of Nobles, you're the feldamned regent lord! What the hell did you take their power away for if you're not going to do anything with it?"

"You know who else completely disregards the advice and opinions of everyone around him when he's in power?" Suddenly, Fordragon swallowed his second shot and put the glass down. "A tyrant, that's who. And I'm not a tyrant. The only reason I took away the power they have to begin with was because when Anduin comes of age to take over, they might not be willing to let him have it — and the last thing we need when that happens is a civil war." He sighed. "Frankly, we're very lucky one did not happen on the spot, but it was better now than later."

"I hope you're not having a third," Leo found himself muttering.

"Hell, no," said Bolvar. He barely looked affected. "Want a top up?"

Leo's mouth tasted sour. He put his glass down, half full. "No, thank you."

"I need to keep the House placated, if nothing else," Bolvar said quietly, drumming his fingers on the wood of his desk. "Besides, Prestor's the expert on dragonkin here, not me. If she says they'll act a certain way, then I trust her."

There he went again, following Prestor's advice as if he didn't have an opinion of his own. "Bolvar... It's obvious she doesn't just have you wrapped around her little finger, she's grabbed you by the balls and twisted."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Bolvar. "In any case, it would be stupid to ignore the advice of an expert on the matter."

"Then you would trust the word of someone who hasn't set foot outside of Stormwind Keep since she arrived here years ago, over the word of someone who has _seen_ what is happening?" said Leo. "When was the last time you went to Redridge? Westfall? Duskwood? Elwynn? The people there feel abandoned. They _are_ abandoned."

"The rabble often cry for attention," said Bolvar, and disgust twisted Leo's gut. He'd heard that exact quote from Katrana Prestor, once. "Everyone thinks they need something from the nobility. They're fine."

"But have you _been_ there?"

"I don't need to have been," said Bolvar. "We know what we're doing."

"_We_? She's no leader, _you're_ the regent, Bolvar! Not her!" Fel, when did his friend become so _spineless_? But before Bolvar could retort, Leo turned on his heel and left before he could jump down his friend's throat further.

He barely restrained from slamming the door behind him, stalking down the corridor. As soon as he rounded the corner, he almost barrelled into one of the nobles from the assembly.

"Pardon me, my Lord," he said, stepping back.

The grey-haired man looked at him curiously. He didn't smile, but no offence made itself known either. Without so much as a greeting, he cut to the chase. "With those two in charge, nobody is going anywhere," he said. "Not you, not me, no one. They're putting everyone in danger."

"Damned right, they are," said Leo. Expressing such an opinion would probably bite him later, but right now - he was too angry to care. "But I didn't see _you_ arguing with her. You were outright attacking me. Why the sudden change of heart?"

"If you're stupid enough to put your hand in the fire, don't cry when you get burned," said Fletcher expressionlessly, staring at Leo. "I'm not pleased with developments, I shan't deny that. I don't want you charging into the Steppes and bringing war to Stormwind in the name of money —"

"_Money_? You think this is what this is about? It's got nothing to do with money!"

"The black dragon scale trade, controlled by your guild, by the way, would beg to differ." The light flashed on Fletcher's monocle as he tilted his head, neither smiling nor glaring at Leo. "But my stance on dragons and the Steppes are, I assure you, as far as Lady Prestor and I agree. You are not the only one to have noticed her influence over Highlord Fordragon, and today is the first time he has defied her in a long, long time." He sneered. "They're ruining the city state, both of them. Look at our lands —"

"They're falling apart," said Leo, bristling in anger. "It's all falling apart," he said again. "All thanks to _them_. Bolvar's been my lifelong friend — he refuses to _listen_! He asks for proof, proof, proof, and yet —"

"And yet proof never materialises," said Fletcher.

"That's not my fault," Leo snapped. "Whenever we get the proof, Prestor always finds some way to discredit it. Or it gets in her hands first somehow and then mysteriously disappears. She's out to sabotage us all for her own ends."

"But what ends are those, I wonder?" said Fletcher, frowning.

"I don't know," said Leo. "I have no damned clue. It can't be power — she has that already. What else does she want?" And, fel, what was going to happen to _Anduin_ when he got older? Was he going to mysteriously disappear, too?

He shuddered at the thought. What if Katrana Prestor had something to do with Varian's disappearance?

There was something sinister at work here. Far, far more sinister. And Prestor was at the heart of it, he was certain.

"People are dying," said Fletcher simply. "I have relatives in Westfall. The Defias are running amok and Prestor downplays their roles." He tilted his head, looking at Leo, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What is your name? You are the guild leader, are you not?"

"Leo Withering," said Leo. "Just Leo. For all I am around here, I do not do formality very well." He had _that_ much in common with Bolvar these days, at least. But at least he had more tact and brains than the other man did.

"Then call me Stephen," said the other man. He was about the age of Leo's father, he reckoned. "Leo. Let me tell you something. If you want to win this battle, you have to stop fighting fair. Fighting fair will get you _nowhere_. Not when the other side is cheating, and plainly it is."

He began walking. Leo followed. He dropped his voice, painfully aware of how empty the halls were around them and how much their voices would carry. "Just… what are you implying?"

Fletcher spoke very, very quietly, but Leo caught the words. "They need to be toppled from power. One way or another."

Leo's stomach twisted. "That — that's not right."

"No," said Fletcher, stopping and turning to Leo. Their faces were close, but neither man backed away, speaking in low tones. "It isn't. Neither is going against your friend. But you know what _is_ right? Standing up for those who cannot stand up for themselves. Those who do not have the privilege of living in Stormwind's walls have no voice, and go unheard day after day after day."

"They have my voice," said Leo stubbornly.

"And what good is that doing?" Fletcher rose his grey eyebrows. "Some things are worth fighting dirty for, and this is one of them. Peace is taking us nowhere. _Peace_ is a protective shield cast around the nobility and those in power for the sake of not being toppled, as people starve and die at the hands of their consequences. They paint their enemies as the enemies of peace — but you should know better. We may disagree about going into the Steppes, Leo — but you genuinely believe it is the right thing to do. But when the dragons are eliminated as a threat, what then? What about the Defias? Varian Wrynn never did anything about them, and neither did Bolvar. And when _they_ are gone — what other enemy will Fordragon refuse to fight? How many more people must die because of him?"

Leo snarled under his breath, "I am not letting my friend get killed."

"Neither am I," said Fletcher. "Believe me, I have no intention of killing Fordragon — it is Prestor we need to get rid of."

"I…" Leo found himself speechless. He loathed Katrana Prestor — but would he wish her _dead_?

… But what good would it do for the other human settlements if she wasn't? She clearly had no interest in protecting them. None whatsoever.

"Why are you trusting me with this?" he said quietly. "You are aware I could simply tell Bolvar about this?"

"I know you won't," said Fletcher. "You stand up for what is right. You disagree with murder. But you disagree even more with the killing of innocents, which is happening at this very moment outside of Stormwind's walls. And it is they who need your protection most." He stepped back. "Come to me later, Leo. When you're ready to make a difference and repair the damage. I should just warn you… your hands _will_ get dirty."

And with that, he brushed past Leo, leaving the guild master with conflicting thoughts.

-o-O-o-

The worst part about having to use an alternate method to influence Fordragon was the thought of being — Galakrond forbid — "_nice"_ to him.

"Nice." It was a pathetic concept invented by whining mortals with skin too thin and a backbone too weak to stand up for themselves. "_You're not being nice!_" they would whinge like children. "_You bruised my sacred feelings, you horrible, horrible person!_"

She _loathed_ mortals, but that was how they worked — they were too weak to adapt to their environment, so instead they changed their environment to fit _them_. It was almost genius, if it wasn't completely unnecessary and bred even more weakness in the human populations.

At least it made the stupid fools easy to walk all over.

She'd seen it happen in the Black Dragonflight where some idiot with a fragile ego hesitated to speak their mind, subsequently getting crushed as their betters took advantage. And they were right to do so — survival was a battle where only the strong survived and the weak died off. It was doing a disfavour to future populations to allow weakness to dilute the generations. At least black dragons knew to give the gift of strength to their children in order to give them the head start they deserved in life.

Humans, however, were far more selfish and stole such privileges from their young, hindering them with even more weakness… which only got passed down further in the walking disease that was the human race. All because someone was "nice."

Onyxia didn't become co-leader of the Black Dragonflight by being _nice_.

Pride was everything to a black dragon. Every black dragon with an ounce of sense held it in high esteem. To lose pride in front of her underlings would cost her. They would attempt to walk all over her, word would get back to Romathis and pretty soon the Black Dragonflight would find itself a leader short. He would exploit any weakness in her mercilessly, just as she would him, and take away all her power. She couldn't exercise much of it from Stormwind, that was for damned sure, and she was sick of living in this hole. Every passing day the muscle of her power went unexercised, and the Black Dragonflight looked more and more to Romathis instead of her.

To give up pride was another weakness.

And even if she cared not for her standing within the Flight, there was the not-so-small matter of the humans all hating her anyway. If she was "nice", humans would notice — stupid creatures though they were, they were hard wired to notice change and grow suspicious. It wouldn't do. She'd have far more attention centred on her, and there was more than enough of that already.

Pulling herself free of the bramble of her thoughts, Katrana Prestor locked her study door behind her and strode to the fireplace, picking up a wooden brush from beside the poker. The cold ashes stirred and curled in a faint grey tint in the air as she brushed them aside to reveal a rectangular, metal plate with a handle. She removed it.

The chute beneath had one original purpose — it made cleaning the fireplace easier. Instead of hauling the ashes away in bags, the maids could simply brush the ashes down the chute and into the gardens below, hidden behind some bushes.

But it held a secret.

She dipped her hand in the hole and felt around. There it was — a slight groove in the stone, something only her draconic sensitivity could detect. A push on the groove forced a hook to jut out, and she pulled on it. With a grinding sound, a stone drawer was revealed.

Stormwind Keep had many tricks up its sleeves. Hidden passages, little nooks and crannies that went unnoticed by the general populace. Onyxia had found this one quite by chance seven years ago, probing the secrets of her room, and it had come in useful ever since. Rifling through the papers, she pulled out a sealed envelope, shoved the drawer back in its place, dropped the metal door down and sat down behind her desk.

She almost felt sorry that her Scalebane's duties included messenger boy. The book in which he'd hidden the letter still sat on her desk, but she hadn't risked leaving it in there with the assembly close approaching. Now, however, she had time. She broke the seal and pulled out the awaiting letter.

Home. This was home, captured in ink on paper, words written by a daughter on the other continent. She could almost smell the soot and char on the paper.

_Broodmother,_

_All goes well in Dustwallow Marsh. The sentry eggs hatched a couple of months ago, and the whelplings patrol as they should. As all sentry whelplings go, they are small, but they are easily the fiercest whelplings I've seen in many years - within minutes of hatching they were tearing each other apart. The Purging does its job well to remove the weak. Many more survived than I thought would. For sentry whelplings, they are strong._

_The dragonspawn that hatched during the spring are learning to hunt small prey with the Childkeepers. Like the sentries, this year's generation is promising. With the exception of a few who went too near to the whelplings, they have all survived. I suspect three or four may perish in the oncoming winter, but overall they are stronger than their parents were at their age._

_Our foothold is well and truly established. No longer do the ogre survivors hassle us. The whelplings made swift work of them and swarmed them. Theramore does not suspect a thing, but the pushing out of the ogres has the unfortunate side effect of the ogres pushing on Theramore. We believe, in addition, that the ogres may have allied with the Horde, but we have yet to confirm those suspicions and I have sent an agent out in that direction to watch for developments. Even if they have, Theramore will not find out. War between the Horde and the Alliance is on the horizon and it benefits us greatly._

_Overall, everything goes well. The eggs within the Wyrmbog will likely hatch within the next year, should nothing but the Childkeepers disturb them and make them hatch early. If the sentry whelplings are strong, I can only imagine the ferocity of my brothers and sisters who have had time to grow within the egg!_

_There is nothing else to report. I await any commands you may send me._

_Ebonaria_

For long moments Katrana stared at the parchment and the awful handwriting. Ebonaria kept her letters short and to the point, something which Katrana wished she would change, longing to hear more of the Dragonmurk. Her eyes drifted back to the stunted report of the dragonspawnlings.

This was why she'd spent thirty long years among humans. For the Dragonmurk. For her children. For the children of her brood who were not fully dragon. If she failed here, her influence could not extend to Theramore if the Brood was ever in trouble. If she failed here, her children might never hatch. The spawnlings might never grow up. She had a duty first to Romathis — but the brood was a close enough second it likely worried her brother.

A rare sigh escaped the dragon's human lips.

The things she did for her kin. It was necessary. She would have to earn the human regent's favour, somehow. She would learn how. She could start with a fake apology. Humans liked it when others grovelled and appeared inferior. But first, she had to write a letter to that _stupid brother_ of hers in Blackrock for that foolish stunt he pulled. She'd send it in the morning with Jettion.

Pride, she thought as she returned the letter to the drawer within the chute. It was an important part of a black dragon's life — but so was living. She would put pride aside, for her kin. She would simply have to ensure the Suicide Squad saw not a glimpse of it.

And, with luck, she wouldn't have to resort to mating with the human to capture his attention.

She shuddered in sheer revulsion.


	7. Royal Attitude

**Chapter Six**

* * *

If she did not find the damned Highlord in the next half hour, she was going to spit her "apology" between her teeth like acid.

In the library, the book keepers Sheaf and Tovald shrugged helplessly at her inquiries. Her knocks at the door of his study went unanswered. The empty throne room greeted her with nobody, and when Katrana found the Suicide Squad training hard at the training square, none of them had seen the Highlord, either. She hissed and snarled under her breath, and when she carefully checked the magical tether between them for the umpteenth time that morning, his immunity hid him from her.

Finally, she found him. Rather, he found _her_ when he almost crashed into her at high speed down a corridor, skidding to a stop just in time. "Highlord," she said, pretending not to notice, as cool as ever. "If I may have a word — "

"Maeqa says Anduin ran off."

Fel. She had hunted all over the Keep for him only to be greeted with _this_? To not be given the time of day? Her knuckles paled as her grip on her staff tightened. Her eyes narrowed. The ungrateful _bastard_! She was going to apologise to him, and it only seemed like the universe had conspired again her. "Then _find_ him." The addendum _you idiot_ was strongly implied.

"That's the problem," Bolvar gestured wildly with his hands, before he quickly seemed to recall they were in a public corridor, empty as it was, and dropped his tone. "We can't!"

She stared at him. "Anduin is missing? How in the _hell_ did he get away from her? Is everyone in this Lightforsaken hole _incompetent_?" Remembering her purpose, she drew a deep breath in through her nostrils, her rage still threatening to breach as she hissed, narrow-eyed, "How long has he been gone?"

"Half an hour," said Fordragon. "She just turned around and he was _gone_!"

"Where's Jettion?"

"In his room, howling."

Jettion. A _shining_ example of draconic youth. Katrana hissed again. "I will examine his room for clues."

"There was no struggle — " Bolvar gaped at her as she stepped past him, scarlet robes flowing among her legs. "Lady Prestor, we already checked his room!"

Anduin's quarters weren't far away. On the window seat, the lake sparkling beyond the large panes of glass, sat a doleful heap of scales.

Katrana closed the door behind her. The room was, indeed, pristine — nothing had been disturbed. His books, crammed together on the shelf, were neatly organised. The bed was made without so much as a wrinkle in the covers, and the baby blue carpet was bare of crumbs. For a child his age, Anduin was remarkably tidy.

"_Jettion_," said Katrana.

Hot anger flared as the whelp let out a mournful, "_Roooooo_."

"_Jettion_!" Katrana snarled at him in Draconic. "_Where is Anduin?_"

"_Roooooo!_"

"_Whelp, answer me now!_"

The whelp finally turned his big, dark eyes on her. "_He's gone to the roof to die!_"

Children of all species could be _so_ dramatic.

"_You cannot honestly be suggesting the stupid boy wants to kill himself,_" said Katrana with a glare.

"_He said he may as well throw himself off the roof!_"

Even for a dragon, Jettion was too young to understand exaggeration. He tipped his snout back for another _rooooooo!_

A very small part of Katrana froze inside her at the sound.

The mourning call.

_Don't be ridiculous,_ she told herself as she stormed out. _The boy will not kill himself, both children are merely being melodramatic._

-o-O-o-

She climbed onto the palace roof the only way she knew how — through a small window in the library, along a gutter and onto the flat tiles above the training room. Apparently this was the same route Anduin had used, because Katrana found him within minutes, his pale legs dangling over the edge and the prince gazing down at the ground with an expression that said, _is __that__ it?_

Katrana glanced over the edge with an arched eyebrow. She was ignorant as to why Anduin was so unimpressed — Stormwind Keep sat on a hill and therefore, while the library was on the first floor, the drop down the sheer cliff beside them was one that could kill an adult. Katrana spent a moment pondering the power vacuum that would take place if Anduin "accidentally" slipped and decided it wasn't worth it — it was frowned upon to kill a whelp, after all, even a human one. Humans didn't feel the same way, butchering dragon children without second thought and protecting only their own young, but dragons had more morals.

Without any fear at all, Katrana walked along the ledge and deigned to sit beside the human whelp. "I certainly hope you are not entertaining the idea of throwing yourself off," she said. "Jettion would howl for weeks if you did, and the sound is _incredibly_ annoying. Not to mention, Fordragon resembles a kicked spaniel when he is upset."

Anduin shook his head quietly. "No, Lady Prestor. I could not do that to the Highlord." A pause, then he muttered, "Goodness knows he'd probably remember my existence if I _was_ dead."

Katrana tsked, deciding to play along with Anduin's sulk. "And what did the buffoon do _this_ time?"

"Do this, do that, go away, go to someone else. Sammy gave birth? Who gives a crap? Go back to Miss Perin like a good little prince!" Anduin sneered. "Why doesn't anyone care about Sammy? They're all so cruel to her! Some of the nobles, when they see me with her, call her a whore in front of me as if I don't know what it means!"

"Children tend to be thought of as stupid, goodness knows why," said Katrana. "You are most certainly not."

"Everyone is so unkind to her!"

"And the Highlord does not stop them, am I correct?" said Katrana. "They never do anything to her in front of _me_."

Anduin's face flickered in sad amusement. They didn't _dare_, and both of them knew it. "They don't do it in front of him either."

"Wise, because I would find out about it," said Katrana. "Who does it?"

"The people who knew the Norris fellow." Anduin sighed. "His friends, his pals from the Brotherhood of Cinders."

"Hmph. That Leonardo Withering is unbearable, it does not surprise me he allows his underlings to run amok."

The child clenched his fists and scowled. This was a golden opportunity to nurture his temper to her advantage, to have the future king on her side by giving the brat the attention he seemed to crave. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Sometimes," he said, and Katrana was all ears. "I really think Bolvar couldn't care less."

"Well," she said casually. "He did care for Varian, but cancelled the search because it was impractical to keep it going."

As she predicted, the boy froze.

"Bolvar _did_ tell you the search was cancelled, did he not?" Katrana's tone was honey. "You are Varian's son, after all, I cannot imagine why he would not have..."

"No," said Anduin, his shoulders sagging. "He didn't. But — Dad's not — he can't be — "

"No, not dead, I believe," Katrana continued fluidly. "Probably ran to avoid responsibility. He likely cracked under the pressure, as they say. After Tiffin's death he was never the same again."

The implications appeared to overwhelm the whelp's small mind. "It's not possible," he whispered, eyes welling with tears. Wonderful. The damn whelp was going to cry on her.

"I do not doubt he loved you very much," Katrana said, laying it on with a trowel. She turned to watch the lake in the mid-morning sunlight, glittering through the trees as the breeze stirred its surface. "Rulers have more responsibility than the populace, after all, and some simply cannot take the burden without breaking. At least someone was left in charge, though Fordragon always makes excuses for his incompetency..."

In the room below, Katrana's keen hearing caught footsteps she'd long memorised. The humans had a saying: "Speak a demon's name and he is sure to appear." To her puzzlement, the sounds came from near the window she had taken. Did _everyone_ know of that short cut up to the roof? She rose her voice so that it would carry to him. "You must be distraught," she said to the boy, who blinked in surprise at the sudden expression of sympathy. "You must feel so upset. Maybe even neglected. Unloved."

She heard Fordragon stop.

"I..." Anduin hesitated. "I know he's very busy."

"Yes, he _is_ very busy," said Katrana. "But all the justifications in the world do not mean our own feelings are invalid." Who knew Bolvar's crap would come in useful? "My father once taught me, 'human nature does not care about why, only what.'"

"Sammy has her baby now, too," mumbled the boy.

"She will not forget you," said Katrana, "unlike some others she evidently adores you." Anduin twitched. Ah, how Katrana delighted in burying the knife deeper — into two chests instead of one, for Fordragon still made not a sound. "Take heart. You have Miss Samantha, and you have Jettion."

"Yeah, but he's a _dragon_."

"And?" said Katrana. "He's the most loyal companion you'll ever meet, however inhuman he is." And, why not, since Fordragon was listening — "And you have me as well, Anduin. You can always call upon me and I will listen, if I am not busy. Perhaps you can come in for tea on some afternoons."

Oh, Fordragon must be _drowning_ in guilt by now, an achievement that was not difficult. Katrana suppressed a smirk.

"I..." Anduin gazed at her, touched. "Thank you, Lady Prestor."

"Take heart," she said. "Things will not be like this forever."

It was spoken as much to herself as to Anduin. Thirty years in a life span of over ten thousand was objectively the blink of an eye, but it had felt like forever since she had been surrounded by her kin with not a whit of human knowledge. Being around mortals for too long changed all but the most stubborn of dragons. The body had a will of its own, and the body sometimes forgot it was truly dragon...

But she was better than that. She was Onyxia, Broodmother, older than human civilisation.

Not Katrana Prestor, a human whelp not yet forty.

Finally she heard sot footsteps below, which seemed to chase Bolvar Fordragon's heavier ones out of the window. The night elf bodyguard appeared behind him, hanging out the window. "Your Majesty!" she piped up in fright as soon as she spotted Katrana and Anduin sitting on the edge. "Be careful, you'll fall!"

"He has not fallen in all the time I have been up here," said Katrana, standing up. Fordragon looked ill just _watching_ her walk along the roof. "Come, Anduin."

The boy narrowed his eyes, and Katrana noticed a genuine effort not to be afflicted by vertigo as he spoke sullenly to Fordragon. "Good to see you showed up."

"Don't use that tone with me," said Fordragon sternly. "Go inside _immediately_ and don't do this again. Maeqa is for your own protection, this behaviour is _unacceptable_."

"Hmph," was Anduin's only comment on the matter. He swung himself through the window without difficulty. From inside, Maeqa squawked.

"You need to develop some empathy," said Katrana, fixing her eyes on Bolvar.

Fordragon gaped at her. His mind said, loud and clear, _are __you__ lecturing me on empathy?_

"Evidently the boy is distressed," Katrana drawled.

"When you're not implying I'm spineless," Fordragon growled, "You're implying I'm a heartless bastard. Which one or the other?"

"You certainly show some spine now," said Katrana, fighting a smirk. "Contrary to your beliefs, it is possible to have personal courage _and_ a sense of empathy."

Curses. She was supposed to get on his _good_ side, not antagonise him further!

"Forgive me," she said quickly, before he opened his mouth. "I have spoken too rashly. I am too harsh on you, Bolvar. I apologise."

Fordragon stared.

Humans. They thought people never changed. Bolvar hissed quietly, but he evidently held more self control than her at this moment. "It's... alright." He gave her a wavering smile. "Just, please, keep a hold on your temper more."

Now it took all her self control to do just that and not snarl at him for _that_ impertinent remark! Instead, she kept her face neutral and beckoned to the window. "For all they say about women first, the apparent superiority of my physical anatomy will not stop you from falling when vertigo takes you. Go."

"Trust you to say something like that," Bolvar grumbled under his breath.

-o-O-o-

The Stonemasons had hidden many secrets within Stormwind's walls, secrets not even Varian Wrynn had known about, and one of these was a small passage from Bolvar's quarters to his study.

He'd kept both strictly separate. Unlike some other nobles who had their studies in their apartments, he'd not trusted himself to stop work when it was time to sleep and had the spare room in his apartment as a second sitting room. Still, the passage came in useful and as soon as he'd found out the room it connected to was empty, he'd snapped it up — partly to avoid the nobles when he emerged from his own apartment, partly to annoy Lady Prestor. Lady Prestor _hated_ it when she couldn't find him, and if he wanted to avoid her he could merely slip through the door hidden behind the book case so he would not be lying when he claimed absence from his study later.

Save for the Holy Light Bolvar allowed to swim around his fingers, the narrow passage was pitch dark. No torches adorned the walls, no spiderwebs or cobwebs drifted in the darkness. It was barely enough to see his way by.

Finally he made it to an apparent dead end, but instead of stopping Bolvar merely held his hand out and pushed on a wooden wall. A bookcase on the other side swung slowly open on hinges. He was always careful, lest he allow books to tumble, but none did as he allowed the Light to die from his fingers and squinted, stepping into the brighter room beyond.

Instead of the patriotic Alliance blue, Bolvar's study was decorated with plush red carpet, with golden embroidery on scarlet curtains. Yellow splashed itself here and there, but deep reds and browns warmed his study. The bookcases sat against the wall, covering their secrets. A portion of the carpet was slightly worn from Bolvar's pacing — a pastime that annoyed his least favourite advisor when she had an audience with him. It was hardly adult to be passive aggressive, but without this way to vent steam, he was certain he would have done or said something regretful a long time ago.

That apology of hers today had been _extremely_ odd.

Reginald Windsor would leave in the morning. The mission would be quick — in, look around, out. They'd be quick and careful. And there were the diplomats to placate, unamused at being left out of the loop. Bolvar had updated them on the situation, careful to emphasise Stormwind would handle it alone. He also had the feeling there was something else he had been supposed to do, but then again, he _always_ had that feeling, the chronic worry that something had slipped from his mind or other.

Forget Reggie and Leo — worry and guilt were his two best friends now.

An impatient knock sounded on the door. Bolvar blinked up from behind his desk, surprised — Anduin should be with his tutor right now. Unless that was a tall dwarf knocking at that level? "Do come in," he said.

Anduin entered, scowling. Behind him, Maeqa winced at Bolvar. "I'm sorry, my lord," she said, "Please accept my most sincere apologies, it was either come with him or watch him run off again and he just _left_ — "

"Do not worry yourself, Maeqa," said Bolvar with a frown. He gestured to the night elf. "Please wait outside." He didn't like the way Anduin was glaring at him and returned it sternly. _He_ was the adult here, not the boy.

Maeqa nodded and dashed out of the room as if a goblin bomb was about to go off. That did not bode well. Bolvar had the distinct feeling the boy had been ranting at her again…

He frowned deeply. "Anduin, what on earth are you antagonising your poor guard for?"

"Highlord," Anduin merely said. Ah, the boy was pulling rank — Bolvar would have none of it. "Why didn't you tell me the search for my father had been cancelled?"

That threw his resolve out the window.

Shit!_ That_ was what he'd forgotten! It took all of Bolvar's willpower not to smash his head into a fine paste against the mahogany of his desk at his own stupidity. _Hell!_

"Lady Prestor says he ran away," Anduin spat. "Is that true?"

Katrana Prestor had said _what_? He stood up, gesturing to an arm chair by the fire. "Take a seat, your Majesty."

"Screw _that_."

"Watch your mouth," said Bolvar sternly. "You will address me and all your elders with respect — "

"Did he run away or not?"

"Gods, no," said Bolvar, watching as Anduin stalked across the carpet and threw himself into the arm chair, sprawled all across it — like a royal brat, Bolvar thought with irritation. "He was kidnapped en route to a summit in Theramore, Anduin. I told you."

"You can tell me the truth, Highlord. I'm not a child."

"Then cease acting like one," Bolvar snapped. "That _is_ the truth, _Your Majesty_._"_

"So he didn't run away?" The sharp edge blunted into a fatigued tone. The boy sounded so tired, sounded like Bolvar felt. The stress had been wearing down on all of them, but Bolvar couldn't see what the boy had to be stressed about. Of course, his father had vanished — but Anduin had been coping alright with that for a few months, surely he wasn't upset about it _anew_? Bolvar rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Patience. Empathy. He could not allow his temper to erode either. Losing a father was not something recovered from easily — Bolvar was living proof.

"No, Anduin," he said quietly. "Varian didn't do that, he didn't run away, he was a man who..." _faced responsibility_, he'd been about to say, but then, ever since Tiffin died Varian had been close to useless —

No. He should not be unkind. Varian had been in mourning, it was completely understandable he hadn't functioned well. Completely understandable Katrana Prestor had most of the power, practically, when he was mourning.

"He was a man who did what was right," Bolvar finally finished. "He would certainly not have run away. Anduin, please, go to Miss Inkweaver."

"Oh, man, I'm forgetting something," Anduin drawled, tone reminiscent of a scornful Lady Prestor. "Oh, that's right! _She just gave birth!_"

Oh, _hell_. He'd lecture Anduin about his attitude later, but for now he calmed himself. "I apologise, Anduin, I've been very stressed and forgetful lately."

Anduin stood up, jaw clenched. "Lady Prestor's right, you _do_ make too many excuses."

Bolvar was left staring at his study door in shock, long after the bang of the slam had finished reverberating along the walls. He rubbed his temples. Anduin had been nothing but a pain lately. If Varian were here...

If Varian had watched that, he'd come down like a tonne of bricks on the child for his wretched insolence. Anduin had definitely spent too much time around Lady Prestor, throwing his weight around like she did. And Miss Inkweaver, who couldn't discipline a child to save her life, did not help at all. Granted, Miss Inkweaver thought the sun shone out of Lady Prestor's —

Anduin was right. He was making too many excuses. He'd have a stern word with Miss Inkweaver as soon as she was back to work, and he'd punish the boy personally, and see to it that Maeqa ensured the punishment was carried out. As for Lady Prestor...

Just when he started thinking Katrana Prestor had a heart, she went and pulled _this_? She'd been brilliant with the boy up on the roof! What kind of person suggested to a son mourning his possibly-dead father that his father had _abandoned_ him? A heartless bitch, that was what —

_No_. No slinging petty names. He was better than that. Better than _her_. Bolvar was not a man who hated easily, but for the first time in his life he felt a flicker of it simmering inside him at the thought of her. _Just what was she playing at?_

-o-O-o-

There was no reason Rudolphus wouldn't be about this time of evening, Leo thought as he walked through the slums of Old Town. Rudolphus, in spite of being one of the highest-paid assassins of the city, was hardly a glamorous assassin. He preferred to live in a dump.

Thugs knew better than to hurt a Withering, and so Leo walked without fear through the lampless back streets. Leo on his own was hardly fearsome, but people knew better than to touch Rudolphus's son. What Rudolphus lacked in tact and kindness, he made up for in abundance with protection.

The lock of his front door was not pickable. Leo tried it anyway. After that he tried all the windows — _one_ hadn't yet had its lock updated, Leo noticed, and he slipped in without a sound.

The house was dark. Empty. Anyone else would have turned around and gone home, but Leo's father was beyond eccentric. He kept his back to the wall as he crept into the living room. "I'm really _not_ in the mood to have to fight for my life, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't give me a spontaneous training session, alright?"

"Damn," said a voice, and a lamp flickered to life on a small table, casting orange highlights on grey hair. A grizzled face, with a hole where one eye should be, glared at him. "Usually I'd ignore you and stab you in the back anyway —- "

"_Attempt_ to stab me in the back - "

"- but you look fairly peaky." The assassin gestured to a chair. Only Rudolphus would have better night vision with his one eye than most. Perhaps that was why he kept the lights off, so his eyes would not have to adjust when he went on the job. "Sit. Clarisse told me you were coming."

Leo deposited himself in the rickety, uncomfortable chair. "That little street waif of yours?"

"She's hardly 'mine', nor a 'little waif,' I just pay her to keep her eyes open," said Rudolphus, sitting down opposite Leo.

"Like hell. I know what _you're_ like. Does she know you're my _father_?"

"She'll make a good rogue one day," Rudolphus ignored him. "Damn better than you. I know a fair few street wenches."

"How _old_ is she?"

"Oh for fel's sake, Leo, she's twenty five."

"That's disgusting."

"Get over it. Next question?"

Why not? One had, indeed, risen in Leo's mind. "Did you ever know a Samantha, by any chance?"

"Inkweaver?" said Rudolphus. "Oh yes, she was a street rat for a time. Not the best of rogues, but she was competent enough. Probably good she got a job with the Keep before she got herself killed, she lacked true talent." He stared at Leo with his good eye. "Spit it out. Something's bothering you."

"Right. I need advice on a... hypothetical situation."

"Are we talking hypothetical, or 'hypothetical'?"

"'Hypothetical', if you will." Leo glared at him.

Rudolphus smirked. He was almost seventy, but only the naïve were fooled by this — a strict diet and frequent exercise meant that Rudolphus looked more like Leo's grey-haired older brother than his father. He'd long retired from SI:7, but hadn't retired from the job itself. Ever. He'd been the best damn rogue in Lordaeron, back before the Second War, and now he was the best damn rogue in Stormwind. He was older than Shaw, after all, and had far more experience, but more people knew of Shaw.

Only the right people knew of Rudolphus Withering — and only if they looked hard enough.

"So what is it, then?" said Rudolphus.

"Let's say that you knew of an evil deed that might take place that had good consequences for many people —-"

"Are you a complete and total fucking idiot?" said Rudolphus. Leo bit the inside of his cheek and glared. "If an evil deed has nothing but good consequences, kid, it's not an evil deed!"

"Someone might _die_ —"

"And just who is benefitting from their deaths?" Rudolphus crossed his arms. "Is a bad organisation benefitting? The Defias?"

"Fel, no. If this person dies, the Defias are in _danger_."

Rudolphus shrugged. "Then I fail to see the problem," he said. "Granted, I don't know anything of this hypothetical situation, but if the Defias are in danger that means that the people who benefit will be civilians, yes?"

"Well, yes..."

"And who, this person excepted, is disadvantaged by their death?"

"The people closest to them." Fel, did Katrana Prestor _have_ anyone close to her? Aside from possibly Bolvar, who likely _was_ sleeping with her? Bolvar was a very private man, after all…

Rudolphus snorted, standing up. "Bullshit. Every villain has their family and friends, that doesn't mean they deserve to live." He stared at Leo. "I don't even know why you came here."

"Because I'm at a loss," said Leo, standing up. "This man, he approached me — said this person had... well, he outright implied this person had to die."

"Why did he approach _you_? What can you give him that he wants?"

Leo shook his head. "I honestly don't know."

"Idiot, the guild. Oh, and me, probably." Rudolphus crossed his arms again, staring at his son with disappointment. "He probably hoped you would speak to me. After all, it's not the first time a client of mine has reached out to me through you."

Leo blinked. "It isn't?"

"Yeah, you just never knew about it," said Rudolphus. "So, it's that Prestor chick, huh?"

Leo stared at him. Long ago he'd given up asking his father how he knew about these things. He may as well confess. "Yes, it is."

Rudolphus whistled. "They've got a task on their hands. I stopped accepting hits on her after the first three times I failed. She _knows her shit_, Leonardo."

"You tried to kill her? And _failed_?"

"She's a powerful sorceress," said Rudolphus. "I'm not even sure _what_ she is — she has the spells of a fire mage, but doesn't delve into the other trees at all." He laughed. "Fel, I still have the burn scars on my chest from the second attempt!"

"I'm surprised you're not on first name basis."

"She doesn't even know it was me those three times." Rudolphus cracked a grin. "Now, sonny, run along and bury your conscience. Murder happens. You want her to die — admit it."

"I do not!"

"So why'd you come to an assassin for reassurance, eh?" said Rudolphus. "You want someone to pat you on the head and tell you that you're doing the right thing. And let me tell you, even if you're still chewing yourself up over this — they're not going to succeed. Hell, tell the man I'll take on another job for kicks if he likes, but I'll probably fail again. Even _I_ can't get to Prestor!" He made a shooing motion. "Run along, little kidlet. No harm'll come to her. And even if it does, it's for the best."

"Father, I'm not a child - "

"Then bugger off, will ya? I have a job tonight to prepare for!" His face softened. "Let her die, kidlet. She has a lot of enemies."

Leo left his father's house (by the window, at Rudolphus's insistence. "I don't like it when people see people coming and going from my place, son or not! I bet you were stupid enough to just _walk_ down the street instead of sneak, you ninny.") feeling no more reassured, but with extra guilt welling up in his chest.

Did Katrana have to die?

Yes. There was no doubt about that. He'd stewed on it more and more since encountering Fletcher.

But did he _want_ her to?

He didn't want to know the answer to that question.


	8. Cultural Differences

**_A/N:_**_ Dude! I got some of the nicest reviews last chapter. :D I'm beyond happy to see people seem to be enjoying this so much. Thank you!_

_Also, a question - how are my chapter lengths? Too long? They tend to average 4.5K words, and I really try not to exceed 5,000 words._

**_WARNING:_**_ Chapter is triggery for containing mentions of domestic violence, allusions to rape, and victim-blaming. On the bright side, there's a baby!_

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

A long day of paperwork, meetings and stuffy nobles followed. In the afternoon Bolvar Fordragon said a formal goodbye to Reginald Windsor, in the company of solemn diplomats and hopeful nobles as priests blessed each and every member of his team. They dispersed not long after, and would be awake to start their journey long before dawn.

Lady Prestor had not deigned to turn up.

Deep into the night beyond, Bolvar's swimming thoughts stalked him, refusing to fall silent. After three hours of lying awake, Bolvar finally threw himself out of bed, dressed, and strode along the pitch black passage to his study without even bothering for a light. When he collided with the back of the book case, he swore colourfully enough that even Arthas Menethil, Light damn his wretched soul, would have blushed.

He attempted to tackle his growing stack of paperwork, but focus eluded him. He picked up books only to abandon them a few pages in, tried to nap on the chaise only to find himself tossing and turning, and ended up spending the entire night pacing and entertaining the unwelcome guests in his head. Still, his thoughts refused to silence themselves until they died with the night, kept at bay at last by the protective rays of the sun that peeked through the Redridge Mountains to the east.

Under the gentle dawn light, Stormwind slowly stirred. At this very moment Windsor and company could already be well on their way to Goldshire, their first stop, with blessings of luck and prayers following every step. After Goldshire came the long stretch to Lakeshire, and beyond came the most difficult part.

Outside the window he caught a flutter of scaly wings as Jettion headed north, his claws closed around something pale that Bolvar did not quite make out on time before the whelp vanished. He was probably off hunting again, and Bolvar fought a smile at the thought. Bolvar had loathed the idea of giving Anduin a dragon for his ninth birthday, but Lady Prestor always got her way, and Anduin adored his whelp. Jettion, for a blackwhelp, was surprisingly mild-mannered.

Lady Prestor. That harpy was never far from his thoughts. She'd been an impressive sight when the dragonspawn had infiltrated the keep. He laughed bitterly at the thought. Trust _Prestor_ to attempt to beat a dragon to death with her staff!

Gods, she'd been _livid_. That woman had always had such a temper problem, always been so cold and stand-offish…

_The harder the armour, the softer the insides, isn't that true?_

He remembered little Hora. He wasn't sure where the gnome had come from — a little golden-haired woman in white robes with no weapon to speak of, nor any tabard, who had vanished the day after. Where was she _from_? How had she walked around without challenge? Security _was_, indeed, lacking, and that was another thing Bolvar had to get around to.

Was she a dragon, too? No — she couldn't be. She wouldn't have saved Leonardo's life if she was. Her words had been so curious…

_I believe she's a good person, if one with a lot of anger. I wonder what she's been through that she feels she has to treat people that way..._

Once again, he remembered the little dark-haired girl who'd gone _white_ at the thought of her father discovering her crime. A girl who punched first, asked questions later. A girl who hid in the kitchens among the servants. A father who kept his daughter secret.

Was it really to keep her safe?

Or was it to hide something far more sinister?

What would have happened if he had pushed up that little girl's sleeve? Even in the summer, she'd often worn long sleeves. What could he have discovered? Prevented? How would Katrana Prestor be different today if — instead of feeling malicious, burning glee when she'd looked so afraid — he had asked her, _are you okay?_

But Daval Prestor had probably died years ago. They never found his body. Katrana Prestor was long out from under his thumb, but was she _free_?

But her behaviour was unacceptable. What kind of _bitch_ insinuated to a missing man's son that he had abandoned him, abandoned his country? Did she have no tact whatsoever?

_No_, his mind piped up. Hell, it was right.

_No unkind thoughts,_ he lectured himself again. He mustn't let his temper get the better of him. After all, would he want Anduin to dismiss people hiding behind a wall of hate? Would he want Anduin to dismiss people's pasts just because their attitude of today was terrible?

However Katrana Prestor acted today did not take away the scars her past may have inflicted on her. True, her rudeness and lack of social conscience disgusted him and everyone around her, but…

... that didn't mean he couldn't give her understanding. It didn't mean he should dismiss her pain, however deeply it lurked.

_She never even smiled,_ he realised. Smirk, yes, but smile?

He racked his brains, picking through every single memory of Katrana Prestor he could recall.

No. Never.

That poor woman.

He'd speak to her. He'd tell her not to do that again — not to talk badly of him to Anduin, not to feed the child's anger — but he'd do it firmly and without malice. He would nurture the decency within her. She'd helped Samantha Inkweaver when nobody else had, after all. She'd stretched out a hand for the woman. And Samantha saw something in Katrana that nobody else could.

With time, he hoped, he would see it too.

-o-O-o-

That morning Bolvar took breakfast in his study instead of the high table, not in the mood to be accosted by various nobles and their often-spiteful opinions. His body and mind had finally realised he had not slept. Later into the morning when he caught himself resting his head on his folded arms for the third time in half an hour, he decided to risk the damn nobles and took a walk in the garden.

The heat of that unusual October day was already fading away into myth. The morning chilled him, clawed at his skin and ran shivers through his body. Dew glistened on the bushes and flowers opened their petals to greet the day, splashes and dollops of colour stark among the greenery.

The effect was ruined by a sneer so great it was practically audible.

Bolvar rounded a tree and spotted Lady Prestor standing under the eaves in the walkway, something bundled in her arms. Today, in spite of a sensitivity against the cold even greater than Bolvar's, she wore sleeveless pink robes as if to spite the oncoming winter and dare the weather to get worse. She stood up tall, her staff propped on the wall beside her — not once had Bolvar ever seen her lean on it — and she cradled a baby to her chest.

_Eh?_

His ears caught sniffling. Opposite Katrana, Samantha Inkweaver held her head in her hands, and Bolvar stopped in his tracks, unwilling to intrude. But the women were not alone — a short night elf with cropped blue hair hovered uselessly nearby, scowling, and Adam Rivers frowned next to him.

"She wasn't doing anything," said the night elf. "We were just sitting at the cafe finishing our breakfast. If I wasn't holding Mandy, I'd have — " He grit his jaw, his glare darkening. " — I'd have _killed_ the bastard. He came out of nowhere, dragged her out of her seat and just socked her in the face."

"And you didn't fight back?" Katrana sounded unimpressed, her condescending expression aimed at Samantha. "Well, _that_ was weak of you. What on Azeroth stopped you from picking up your chair and braining the man?"

Samantha sobbed. The night elf shot Lady Prestor a glare that could have chilled water. Foris was one of the very, very few people who dared.

"Lady Prestor," said Bolvar, stepping closer. "We do not blame the victim. Miss Inkweaver, were you accosted?"

Samantha nodded. "I was out with Foris," she said, gesturing to the sullen bodyguard. "He'd wanted to see the baby and he couldn't sleep, so we went for some breakfast, and Norris — he was drunk, he'd found me, he — "

"Why, do we criminalise a man for assault because she is incapable of defending herself?" Katrana drawled.

Of all the hypocrisy...

"Captain Rivers, speak to Miss Inkweaver, find out what happened and see that appropriate actions are carried out," said Bolvar. He turned on Lady Prestor. "As for you — a word. Now."

"Unhand me at once, you fiend!"

The woman was so dramatic. Rolling his eyes, Bolvar steered her away and spun her around once they were a decent distance away. "What the hell is _wrong with you?_"

In Lady Prestor's arms, Amandine stirred. Lady Prestor hissed at Bolvar, rocking the infant. It had to be the most bizarre, self-contradictory sight Bolvar had ever witnessed.

He toned his voice down so as to not disturb the infant any more than he already had. "How can you even _say_ that? You helped her, and now you turn on her? Why are you so _nasty_?"

"I am hardly nasty," said Lady Prestor. "I merely have the spine to say what others cannot bring themselves to."

"Then at least, for the love of the Light, learn some wretched tact! That was _not_ the time or place to say such a thing!"

"Oh yes," drawled Lady Prestor. "I shall watch my speech, alright, and then proceed to be trampled over like others walk all over _you_. No, thank you."

"Why did you help her at all if you think this is her fault?" said Bolvar. "If you look down on her so much?"

"Have I not spoken to you about this?" hissed Lady Prestor. "Or do I need to drill it through your skull? I helped her because nobody else would! Because they had an affair, but because she is the female, _she_ paid the price for it! Because everyone —"

Bolvar hissed through gritted teeth, and Lady Prestor, for once, had the wits to fall quiet. "That doesn't answer my question," he said.

Then he recalled something.

"Wait," he said. "When Norris was removed from the Keep he had a black eye," he said, eyeing her suspiciously. "I do not suppose you happen to have had anything to do with that?"

And in a beat Prestor's fury faded, replaced by sadistic, twinkling amusement. "Perhaps."

"You can't just _punch_ someone!"

"Not even if they deserve it?"

She was _impossible_. "Not even if they deserve it!"

"If people were allowed to punch who they wanted, disputes would get solved a lot more quickly, and Samantha would not have been afraid to defend herself," said Lady Prestor. "Laws against violence _cripple_ so-called 'victims', who end up trapped in violent marriages with no hopes of ceasing the violence because stupid laws like that dictate they're better off taking the hits than teaching the fools they married a lesson for raising their hand against them — "

Was she a complete idiot? "Laws against violence are supposed to _prevent_ domestic violence happening in the first place!"

Lady Prestor laughed bitterly, a sound which only watered the seed of suspicion within Bolvar. "Oh, yes, as if it makes any difference behind closed doors!" she said. "When nobody is watching, people _will_ hurt their spouses, whilst gullible law-abiders don't dare defend themselves."

"But they can escape," said Bolvar. "There are resources to help abused women - "

"What, _leave their spouse_?" Lady Prestor scowled. "That's cowardice!"

_What._

How hypocritical could one woman be? Her logic wasn't only backwards, it turned itself inside out and slithered sideways! "Please don't tell me your thinking is so outdated you _honestly_ believe — "

"Whatever happened to the 'until death do us part' spiel?"

"That hardly applies when your physical safety is threatened!" Bolvar said. Again, the baby in Lady Prestor's arms stirred and he forced himself to lower his voice. "And didn't you _help_ Samantha get out of that?"

"No, I merely meted out justice," Lady Prestor clucked. "And they were not bound together by matrimony."

"And besides," said Bolvar. "Relationships are supposed to be build on trust, care and love — "

"_Ha!_ No wonder you don't have a mate yet, what a naïve point of view," Katrana snickered. "Of course spouses hurt each other. My point is that anti-violence laws fool the especially weak into thinking it is intolerable to fight back, which causes — "

"_My_ parents never hit each other." Bolvar casually dropped, watching her intently.

She fell straight for it. "Likely it happened when you were not watching. _My_ father just about ripped my mother's throat out if she disobeyed, took her when he wanted, and you know what she did? She grew a spine and fought back and refused to flee from her mistake." She paused for a moment, as horror sank into Bolvar, and mused, "Actually, the other women _died_ from their injuries, if I recall correctly."

He gaped at the woman in front of her, who seemed oblivious to his thought processes — until she froze, eyes widening subtly, as if aware she'd slipped up.

No wonder Katrana Prestor was so... _her_. "That is awful," he said.

"It's how the world works," said Prestor casually. "I cannot believe you would be so naïve to think — " she froze, eyes widening further, sucking in her breath with a hiss.

Bolvar had, unconsciously, reached out to with his hand to the woman's cheek. She turned into a statue under his touch, one meant to comfort, but it seemed to only distress her further. He dropped his hand. His voice was soft, layered with compassion. "How can you still think these things at your age?" said Bolvar. "Did you _never_ meet anyone who proved you wrong? Did your father's lies really remain with you for so long, Katrana?"

Her eyes flashed. Only the gentle gurgling of the now-awake Amandine seemed to prevent her from seizing up in fury.

"No matter what he may have told you, that's not normal," said Bolvar. "It's far from acceptable. Any guard who knew of it would have arrested your father immediately, and — " Bile rose in his throat. "If he killed with his violence, he would have been arrested for murder."

… He'd never found out how Katrana's mother died, had he?

Gods. _No_. "Oh, _Kat_."

Perhaps she'd never had any affection in her life, even after that monster had died. "No wonder you're still alone, too," he murmured softly, soothingly. "Especially if you think anyone could hurt you like that."

No wonder she acted the way she did. No wonder she cut people down, no wonder she scorned Samantha's actions. She'd never received help — the only protection she'd had was a mother whose injuries could quite possibly have killed her, and Bolvar did not quite have the courage to ask.

"I am more than capable of defending myself," Katrana snarled.

"You'd kill anyone who hurt you," Bolvar realised.

Her eyes narrowed. "I would."

"I believe you." He smiled weakly. "Let me extend a hand of friendship, then. Do you like chess?" It seemed like the kind of thing Katrana Prestor would like. "Maybe we could have a game sometime, and a chat. Just a friendly invitation. I want to show you that not everyone is a monster."

Saving someone was such a bad idea. He would only drown himself this way. People had to _want_ to be helped, and she was too proud. She could easily turn abusive on him. She _had_ been close to abusive before, with her feral temper, hot rage and how callously she treated others. She was a bully in a playground of nobles, and not all of them fought back.

Had she really never known, in all her life, that her parents were the exception, not the rule? Had Daval Prestor _really_ killed women with his violence — possibly Katrana's mother?

She deserved a second chance. And he would give it to her. She could use a friend, for once in her life, and he'd be that friend if she allowed him. And he doubted she would. She was too proud.

He waited for her to say no, to turn around and stalk away out of mortal offence…

… But she didn't.

Instead she glared at him. "Fine," she snapped. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them she had calmed. "Fine," she said again, her tone softer. "I accept, then."

"Tomorrow, then?" he volunteered. "My study?"

"Tomorrow," she said blandly.

He smiled at her. She didn't smile back, but she wasn't glaring as much. That was as good as a smile from Katrana Prestor.

"Then it's settled," he said quietly, then looked over to Miss Inkweaver. "Ah - I shouldn't have forgotten her. Pardon me."

-o-O-o-

Onyxia's human form had never been physically sick, and rarely did she ever feel such an overwhelming emotion (save anger) that she showed it readily, but as soon as Bolvar Fordragon turned towards Samantha and had Katrana out of his line of sight, the dragon allowed a physical shudder to wrench her human form. She wiped her wrist on her cheek in repulsion as if it would make an iota of difference, simmering bile rising in her throat. Dragons slept in mud and dismembered their prey, but Onyxia had never known something as _disgusting_ as Fordragon's touch.

But she had a golden opportunity to get closer to the human, and she would not waste it. If he thought she was some abused whelp, and that opened a window, she'd be a fool not to crawl through.

She had to do what she had to do.

She'd messed up. She'd forgotten human and dragon culture were two entirely different beasts. How was she to know that humans were not supposed to beat their mates behind closed doors? Black dragons fought each other all the time.

She hadn't lied when she'd recounted her parents' violence to Fordragon. From the depths of her memories a shadow of her mother's screams echoed through her consciousness,. Sintharia had been the only one to survive...

She tore herself away.

"Is it true?" came Samantha's wavering voice. "Highlord? Is it my fault?"

Bolvar Fordragon hesitated, and Katrana could feel he was painfully aware of her lingering presence as she stepped closer. "Don't take her crap," he finally said. "We don't condone victim-blaming at all."

Samantha's eyes drifted towards Katrana. The nobles were right, for once — the woman trailed after Katrana like a puppy looking for its mother, and seemed to think the world of her opinion. Or perhaps she worried Katrana's ego would be bruised. Katrana rolled her eyes. "He may be right," she said, loathing herself for every word she spoke.

Fordragon looked confused. Katrana resisted a smirk.

"We are responsible for our own actions, yes," said Fordragon, recovering. "But _never_ the actions of others. What he did to you was unacceptable, and I will not rest until he is arrested and charged for his crimes."

Finally, Samantha smiled. "I'd like to sleep deeper," she said. She stood up, and held her arms out to Katrana, who only then remembered the human child she idly rocked in her arms. "Though with this little one, that's a little difficult!"

-o-O-o-

On the small mountains that separated Elwynn and the Steppes, a drake alighted. He stood on his hind legs, his wings stretched to their full span, and a white light bathed his form as his forelegs turned into arms, his long neck shortened and his scales withered away. In his place stood a human.

In the early afternoon he trotted down a mountain path, a bag slung over his shoulder as grass whipped at his leather-clad legs. A ribbon pulled his long, black hair to the nape of his neck, and to any human he would have looked like a man who'd just grown out of boyhood.

The afternoon sun cast yellow light about him as he continued his journey, threatening to beat him to the horizon. He passed onto flat ground at last, and through the hills and trees of Northshire. The wolves and kobolds gave him a wide berth. They smelt the scent of scorched earth and charred wood that black dragons could never really shake off, as subtle as it was in this form.

His feet found the road soon enough. Stormwind was still a long way away, Old Town further still, but the sunset would take its time and he did not fear the dark. After a time he broke away from the road, cutting through the forest. He did not fear the beasts within either, nor the Defias. They knew by now to avoid him.

Twilight hung a purple veil in the air when he passed through the gates of Stormwind, his bag heavy on his shoulders. The chill touched him, but even in the summer it did. Tonight, winter crept onto the streets of Stormwind, bringing December closer than ever. In the shadow of the Redridge Mountains, winter came quickly.

The lamplighters moved through the streets as the drake did, allowing flickering shadows to be cast onto the streets. The drake pulled his cloak more tightly about him.

The Trade District was almost dead, but Old Town brimmed with people heading to the taverns. The drake followed the trickles of people and his memories to the Pig and Whistle.

Inside, cigar and pipe smoke branded his nostrils. From the smell of it, some brave soul was smoking deathweed as well, though they'd regret it in a few hours. The drake stopped at the door and allowed his eyes to comb over the patrons.

There they were, crammed into chairs around an entire table, nine unsmiling, dark-haired men and women. Oh, a couple here and there were smirking as they engaged one another, but the drake recognised his kind from a mile away. They stood out too much. It was lucky for them that humans were such fools they discounted them as oddities, birds of a feather that had found their flock.

Still, after regular nights at the Pig and Whistle they drew no attention. By now the patrons were more than familiar with the Suicide Squad, a clique of guards so exclusive they only drank with one another and rarely deigned to look at those who were not their superiors. Even the drunkest of men knew not to pick a fight with them.

When the drake slipped into the only empty chair at the table the nine of them immediately seized up. He slid his bag onto the table. Quietly, Scalebane Omnarion — better known as Adam Rivers — took it.

There was little risk of being overheard in the crowded tavern; the racket surrounding them all made sure of that, and so Adam Rivers was unafraid as he said, "Letters from home. Good." He found and removed three envelopes, spiriting them under his vest.

Quietly, the bag made its round, deposited in the lap of each dragonspawn before it was passed on, hidden from public view. Racket or not, if they all devoured their letters at once they would draw attention to themselves. A few braver dragonspawn slit envelopes open underneath the table and began to read. Adam Rivers was one, picking out one particular to open and reading quietly.

The faintest smile appeared on his face, and the drake's eyes narrowed. But Rivers seemed to remember himself without prompting, allowing his face to become more neutral without appearing to notice the drake watching him.

Dragonspawn showed their inferiority from time to time. It was the human blood that ran through their veins, diluted over thousands of years but still present.

Rivers said, "All three of my young hatched, and they are strong and healthy." He smirked. "This is good to hear."

He wasn't the only parent in the group — one of the newer Squad members had a pregnant mate at home, having joined the group only three months ago, and shared that his mate had laid only the day before she'd written. The Squad began to share news with one another in hushed, paranoid whispers as Rivers ordered another round of drinks, smirks lighting up all their faces. Some fought outright smiles.

"So," Rivers murmured to the drake beside him. "When do you next make the journey to Theramore?"

"Next week," said the drake. "I return to Lord Victor tomorrow."

"Good," said Rivers, pressing two more envelopes into the drake's hands. The envelopes slipped into the empty bag. "One of those is a report to Ebonaria — pardon me, I mean the Ebon Lady. The other is for Lord Victor. There's news I expect he will have already heard, but he will want to hear from me."

The drake nodded quietly. "They will be delivered. I will receive all letters in the morning at the usual place." He stood up. "Good night to you all."

A few patrons cast the drake curious glances as he departed. It was so unusual, after all, for the exclusive Suicide Squad to ever entertain another guest at their table. But humans were self-centered little creatures, and their own lives and worries wrapped them up. By the end of the night, most would forget the drake had even been there.


	9. Maeqa's Second Mistake

_**A/N:** Thank you for the very kind reviews, once again! Here, have a treat. I'm not so happy with this chapter but no matter how much I try to hack it into something better I can't quite manage it. Still, I hope you enjoy!_

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**Chapter Eight**

* * *

Maeqa was Anduin's bodyguard, not his mother. If Anduin wanted to make hot chocolate in the kitchens instead of meeting Miss Perin for his studies, Maeqa wasn't going to stop him. She was _not_ in the mood to convince a stubborn prince to do his duty.

"Have you ever had hot chocolate before?" said Anduin.

If it weren't for the innocence of the question itself, Maeqa would have been suspicious of the tone of Anduin's voice, and the sly look he shot her out of the corner of his eyes. "No," she said, raising a long, purple eyebrow.

"Why not?"

"There is no chocolate in night elven lands. We do not have the ingredients."

"But you've been in Stormwind for years."

"Indeed I have."

Upon receiving no further elaboration, Anduin frowned, but trotted to the stove.

A maid smiled sweetly. "I can make that for you, Your Highness, if you wish."

Anduin shook his head. "I can use a stove," he said politely. "I used to cook with Uncle Bolvar, before he got really busy. Thank you, however, you are very kind."

The maid looked to Maeqa. Maeqa didn't bother acknowledging her, keeping herself placed in the corner of the room where she had a view of the two open windows and the door. Anduin wasn't far from a window, but Maeqa's crossbow was always loaded and it would be a simple matter to shoot anything that appeared. Or a servant, if one should sprout scales and a tail like the dwarf had the other day.

When the maid continued to look at Maeqa for confirmation, the night elf shot her a chilly look. The maid took the hint and curtseyed, before padding away quietly to do her duties.

As a bodyguard, Maeqa had learned to think without losing concentration. The windows took her main attention, but in the background of her mind thoughts buzzed. Her bladder was already aching. Ever since the events of a few days ago, security had been tightened — and that meant no bathroom breaks if you were the only bodyguard of the prince, and twelve hour shifts. Anduin had only two guards, after all, and while once upon a time the Keep had seemed so safe Maeqa had been allowed to dash off every now and then for a quick whizz or leave him alone with Miss Perin for a couple of hours as she took a break. But those days were gone. After Anduin had run off, it had only grown worse and now she had to not only be on guard for attackers, but be on guard for her own charge to escape.

All thoughts froze as something moved past the window. When beady eyes peeped in with a flutter of wings, Maeqa stared down the bird until it vanished.

Anduin retrieved a glass bottle from one of the ice boxes and a cup, taking them over to Maeqa.

She unscrewed the top and sniffed, eyes still on the window. The fresh milk did not smell out of the ordinary. She poured a little into the proffered glass and tasted it, swishing it around her mouth, and gave Anduin her nod of approval. Without a word the boy placed the empty glass by the sink and poured some milk into the saucepan on the stove. Maeqa took a moment to inspect the chocolate powder when it was presented, pushing it around with a spoon and sniffing — it passed as well.

Maeqa couldn't wait for Samantha to get back to work — at least Samantha had some experience as a rogue, unlike Miss Perin. She had looked well enough, considering, in the infirmary. Like all the other adults in the Keep, she'd been too tired to tell Anduin off when the boy began rummaging in cupboards, until a priest admonished the prince and shot Maeqa a dirty look. "I'm a bodyguard, not a child minder," she'd said flatly. Why did _everyone_ act like Maeqa was his mother? Did she _look_ like Tiffin Wrynn?

She almost didn't try the hot chocolate — it was only a few hours into the morning and her bladder was already hinting at the hell that was to come later. But when Anduin offered her a mug she accepted it with reluctant thanks. Her attitude towards dealing with wilful children was "make them happy", not "give them more reason to make your life hell."

She took a wary sip of the hot chocolate, and had to stop herself making a face. Humans _liked_ this? She'd never had chocolate before in all her years in Stormwind, and she could see she hadn't missed out on anything. _Yuck._

"How do you like it?" said Anduin, watching her hopefully.

"Delicious," Maeqa lied.

The quicker she drank it, the happier Anduin would be, the faster it was over with. Maeqa downed it in a flash, trying not to gag. Anduin took his time with his own mug, sitting at the table in a daydream. His brow was faintly furrowed, Maeqa noted out of the corner of her eyes. She put the mug down on the table and continued to stare at the windows, almost jumping when another bird flew past.

"Sometimes you can see Jettion flying around," said Anduin. "He goes off to hunt every now and then. He likes Lady Prestor, too."

"That's nice," said Maeqa.

Anduin took their mugs to the sink. "I think I'll go up to the roof again, see if I can find him," said Anduin.

"You were due to meet Miss Perin in her study ten minutes ago," said Maeqa.

The boy shrugged. "Stop me, then."

Fel, no. As much as she'd love to throw the boy over her shoulder and carry him to his tutor, the last time she'd done that she discovered the hard way that Anduin Wrynn was uncannily becoming like his almost-mother, Katrana Prestor — when Anduin wanted something, he stopped at nothing to get it. That included screaming his lungs out and struggling wildly if you picked him up and hauled him off. After that particular incident, Bolvar had taken her aside with an apologetic look and said, "He's been a bit funny since his father disappeared. Just... give him what he wants, he'll grow out of it. Keep him safe."

"Then I hope we find Miss Perin on the way," Maeqa said in resignation.

The boy trotted off, and Maeqa followed. She eyed every noble they passed, watching for subtle cues, looking for people crouched behind corners and enemies on top of the great lanterns above. But as always, none attacked him. But who knew if there weren't any more obsidian dragonspawn hidden behind those once-friendly faces…?

Anduin seemed to change his mind about going onto the roof and dawdled in the library instead, speaking to the librarian, Donyal Tovald, about... mundane things Maeqa didn't pay attention to, because her stomach began to cramp painfully, and nausea clouded her body.

Wonderful. With things the way they were, nobody could afford for her to get sick — if she was ill, she'd have to take Anduin Wrynn to stay with Bolvar for the day. Foris needed his sleep, and had trouble with insomnia as it was — Maeqa hadn't been impressed when he'd mentioned wanting to have some breakfast out with Samantha that morning instead of catching up on the sleep he needed.

But then, Foris had the night shift, and that was duller than the day one.

She hoped the illness would pass, but it became quickly apparent, with increased cramping of her stomach that almost had her doubled over, that she needed to disappear for a few minutes before she did something incredibly embarrassing all over herself. That hot chocolate hadn't agreed with her — perhaps she was allergic to milk. Maeqa was hundreds of years old and rarely drank milk, but who knew, perhaps something like that could develop suddenly...?

"Anduin," she called for the boy. "I need you to come with me."

Thank _Elune_, for once in the boy's recent life he obeyed without second thought or argument. The last thing she should do was leave the boy here — she'd take him to the Highlord, then scamper off to the bathroom and hope to the moon that _nobody_ was close enough to listen.

But on the way there her body grew more and more urgent until she abandoned that plan, ordered Anduin to his godfather's study, and bolted for the bathroom. She barely made it.

She was never having milk again. _Ever._

After a while she risked emerging. The cramps had died down and the nausea had lifted, leaving her feeling as if it had never been. She'd had small bugs from time to time since the immortality lifted — some lingered for weeks, and some vanished in an hour. It was puzzling, but she had a job to do.

She knocked on Fordragon's study door. At the resulting, "Come in," she immediately spoke, "Forgive me, Highlord, I came down sick all of a sudden and had an emergency and — "

Fordragon looked incredibly puzzled. Maeqa, out of habit, inspected the room closely.

No Anduin.

Suddenly she remembered Anduin rummaging around the cupboards in the infirmary. The awful-tasting hot chocolate.

Oh, _hell_.

-o-O-o-

The sun shone down on him, through fresh air mingled with various scents. When the wind changed he smelled the smoke from the Dwarven District, or the aroma of cooking food from Old Town, or the fragrance of herbs from Cathedral Square. Anduin tore west through the streets, determined to get as much of a head start as he could before the guards found out — and they would, he was sure. Quickly.

He had to hide. The Park would be the perfect place.

Maeqa had told him about the Park. Most of the night elves lived there. Instead of roads they had grass and beaten paths, instead of humans most of the denizens were elven, and instead of a fountain they had an imitation moonwell. True moonwells could not be built outside of elven territory, but this was bigger than the real thing and the elves revered it nonetheless.

Anduin would hide there. He'd hide until the guards gave up on him, until Lady Prestor returned to more important matters, until Fordragon killed the search for him, too.

And then he'd make his move.

The park was further away than he thought, but he did not falter. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with the guards, moving as if he had a purpose. A lost child attracted attention, he knew that from the stories he'd read, one with a destination did not. The few adults that noticed him would assume he was running errands or returning to his parents. That morning he had chosen his most casual clothes, but even now, among commoners, he felt overdressed. Still, keeping his woollen hat obscuring his blonde locks seemed to do the trick. Not even the guards looked at him twice.

Anduin kept his pace brisk, but soon enough he found himself thirsty and with a stitch forming in his side. He slowed down. _West_, he thought. As long as he kept going west, he couldn't miss the park. It could take hours to get there, but he would. He followed the canal skirting the Dwarven District. At first the smog had been a fascinating smell, but it became quickly apparent that Anduin wouldn't be able to bear breathing that in all the time. It had rarely blown to the Keep.

Cathedral Square was the opposite — it was as beautiful as he'd heard it described, and more. From Anduin's window the spire had been a distant needle jutting into the sky, but here, in front of him, it looked enormous.

His parents had married here.

He felt a pang in his heart. He _would_ find his father. He'd do what even SI:7 had not. Varian Wrynn was out there, somewhere. First Anduin had to wait out his own search. Once it was cancelled, he'd smuggle himself aboard a ship headed for Kalimdor. Nobody would recognise him — Bolvar Fordragon had kept him well-hidden from the public eye.

He stopped by the Cathedral, but only briefly. He'd met Archbishop Benedictus in person more than once, and if the Archbishop happened to take a morning stroll he'd stumble across Anduin. Luckily, he didn't seem predisposed to do so today, and Anduin didn't catch so much as a glimpse of the man, gazing up the enormous, impressive cathedral. The direction of the wind changed again, carrying with it the rancid stench of the Dwarven District's pollution. The smell of smoke was beautiful on its own, but here it only tainted the sacred perfection.

He continued west.

As the sun rose higher into the sky and Anduin's dry throat yearned for water, his legs aching from so much walking, odd purple roofs greeted him as he stepped back into the canal district. He brightened, eyes searching for the bridge. That had to be the park!

He was right. Not long after he crossed over the canals and through a tunnel, grass greeted his sights. Fresh emerald sloped into a field skirted by purple-roofed houses, dotted with clusters of trees. He'd seen night elven architecture in books, but it thrilled him in person. The night elven influence was everywhere - in the whorls of the purple wood some of the houses had been built in, in the fence posts, in the few stone paths that had been laid down...

The park was _beautiful_.

There were more birds here than even in Cathedral Square, and their joyful twittering filled Anduin's ears. A small dog with a pinched face paddled in the enormous moonwell, gazing at Anduin solemnly as he bent over the side. In spite of the laws of nature, the usually-still water held no mosquitos or insects. Magic, perhaps.

He glanced around. A few night elves milled about, but none looked at Anduin. He looked back to the dog. "Don't tell anybody," he said.

Ignoring how dirty the water probably was he cupped his hands and took long, deep draughts. It tasted like rain, cool upon his parched throat. Anduin thought he'd never stop drinking. Finally, bloated with water and feeling content at last, he sat up and took another look at the dog. It clawed its way out of the water with clacking paws and shook itself, spraying the stone with water. A few drops sprinkled Anduin's face.

"You're not supposed to take a drink from the moonwell, you moron," said a voice behind him.

He turned around. A small group of children stared at him. All, with the exception of a night elven boy dramatically younger than the rest, were human.

The boy who'd spoken reminded him, uncannily, of Katrana Prestor, with dark hair, sharp features, and a twisted, ugly scowl reminiscent of a bird of prey. He was barely older than Anduin. The boys and girls behind him looked the same age. The night elf looked perhaps about six years old, with wide, miserable eyes.

Anduin ignored the boy's admonitions and smiled. "Hi," he said. "I'm And — Andrew. Just call me Andy."

"Are you a complete fucking idiot?" said the boy.

Anduin blinked at him, hurt piercing a hole in his chest. "I beg your pardon?" he said.

"Ah, deaf as well. I _said_, are you a complete fucking idiot?"

Anduin boggled at the boy. Such _language_! The boy narrowed his eyes at him, only exacerbating the unfortunate effect of resembling a certain well-detested politician. "Not last time I checked, no," Anduin said. "Do you require some soap to wash your mouth out with?"

The boy's eyes narrowed further, and Anduin found himself seriously wondering if Lady Prestor _hadn't_ had someone's bastard child. Or else a sibling impossibly younger than her. "I'll mister _you!_"

Anduin had read enough books to know when a random gang of children approached you with insults, it was not to make friends. Still, the children seemed to be waiting for a reason to jump him, not being stupid enough to start something without a possible defence if any adults happened to see, though the adults seemed to have disappeared. He hid his dismay. "Okay," said Anduin, keeping his tone happy. "You do that."

The children stared at him. The boy with black hair gawked.

The night elf giggled.

Suddenly he bent over double. "That's not funny, you tree rat," the girl beside him snarled, pulling her fist from his stomach. The boy crumpled onto the grass.

Anduin's eyes widened. "Hey!" he said. "Leave him alone!"

The little night elf wheezed. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm used to it."

The redheaded girl shrugged. "He's just a tree rat."

How could they be so _insensitive? _"That's a racial slur!"

"So?" They laughed.

Anduin slipped off the edge of the pool and held a hand out towards the young night elf. "Are you okay?" said Anduin.

"I'm fine," the night elf said, eyeing Anduin's hand as if expecting more violence. Anduin frowned sadly.

"The hell do you want to help the tree rat for?" said the dark-haired boy.

Anduin gave the ringleader a chilly look, before he took the night elf boy's hand and pulled him up. "He's a very unpleasant person," he said to the elf.

That seemed to be the flicked switch the group had been waiting for. The girl who'd hurt the night elf dashed forward with her fists, but Anduin's body carried him out of the way with a single step. "Have you even been _trained_?" he said, gaping at her. "That was terrible!"

She grit her jaw and snarled.

"I train every day," said Anduin, flittering out of the way again as she swung another fist. "My godfather used to train me, but these days he gets someone else to do it."

The night elf laughed. The girl lunged for him — or tried to. In the blink of an eye Anduin whipped his foot out and tripped her. The girl rolled clumsily onto her back, nostrils flaring, eyes wild, leaves strewn in her blonde hair.

Anduin caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, but before his reflexes kicked in the ringleader shoved him to the side. Anduin dropped and rolled, springing back to his feet.

Anger seared him as the blonde grabbed the night elven boy by the hair. "You think this is funny, you little — "

Anduin wasn't supposed to hit girls. Even if they deserved it. Still, he resisted, and when he attempted to pry her away from the night elf her fingers unclasped easily. "Hey," he snapped at the four human children who watched him, the girl backing away with guarded eyes. "Anyone else lays a hand on him and I'll do more than lay a hand on you!"

The blonde snarled again, but the other held her back. The night elf watched with wide eyes as Anduin stepped in between him and the humans and stared at them coolly.

The attackers hesitated. "Fine," the black-haired boy spat. "You have him. He's pretty useless, though, not worth defending. Good for training, though. Makes a good punching bag."

"Evidently not. You're all pathetic fighters."

The blonde girl hissed. "Enough, Evie," said the dark-haired boy. "Let's go." He shot Anduin a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder. "This isn't over."

"Oh, _spare me_," Anduin drawled.

The boy spat on the ground. And with that, the humans strode away, chins held high.

The night elf tittered nervously. Anduin, satisfied there was enough distance between them and the attackers, turned around. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," the night elf said, seemingly oblivious to the bruise forming on his cheek. "They do that a lot."

"They shouldn't!"

The night elf blinked at him. "But I'm foreign," he said, as if it explained everything.

Anduin seethed with anger inside. "How long has this been going on for?"

"Since I got here," said the night elf, cringing away from his tone. Anduin forced himself to calm. "I'm sorry."

"What — it's not _your_ fault!"

"I came here just after the Third War, when An'da woke up." He looked mournful. "They grew up faster than me. And they're bigger. And I'm not allowed to hurt them, An'da said."

_An'da_. Where had Anduin heard that name before? "Who's An'da?"

"It's my father," said the night elf. "His name is Kair Emberfleet. I'm Myth." He bowed.

Anduin smiled returning it. "I'm Andy."

To his astonishment, Myth frowned. "I..." he hesitated. "I am not ungrateful, but — you shouldn't hurt my friends."

"They were hurting _you_!"

Myth shrugged, his soft ears drooping. "They're my only friends."

What kind of "friends" were those? "I'll be your friend," said Anduin.

Myth eyed Anduin warily. "You look like you can hit harder than them."

"I won't hit you. Promise." Anduin gave Myth the warmest smile he could, ignoring the anger that curled hotly in his stomach. "No _true_ friend hits people without provocation."

"I haven't seen you around here before," said Myth.

"No, I'm on a mission," said Anduin.

"A mission?"

"A quest, a mission. I'm looking for my father."

"Where did he go?"

"Nobody knows. He's been missing eight whole months. I ran away because they won't look for him — please don't tell anyone."

"I promise I will not tell," Myth smiled.

There was something particularly adult about the boy, in spite of his youth. He seemed far too intelligent for his age. "How old are you?" said Anduin.

"Forty three."

Anduin's eyes widened. "Wow," he said. "You don't look that old! You're older than Lady Prestor. I think. You're not supposed to ask a lady how old she is."

Myth blinked. "Lady who?"

So, contrary to the beliefs of the House of Nobles, life did not revolve around them. "Somebody I heard of," Anduin said. "I'm nine."

Myth stared. "You don't look like a baby."

Anduin grinned. "That's because I'm not!"

"You should be," said Myth. "Well. If you lived as long as a night elf."

Anduin tried to imagine little Amandine staying as a baby for nine years, and quickly decided that was a horror not even her mother wanted to endure. He liked Amandine, but Samantha had quickly assured him that she had a pair of lungs on her that disrupted her sleep several times a night. He let out an impressed whistle. "So who were those children?" said Anduin.

"Their leader is Richard," said Myth. "And the girl who punched me is Evelyn. Then there's Melinna, and Flynn." Myth tugged at his waist-length, blue hair. "Richard's the only one who doesn't live in the city. His father sells apples in the Trade District. That's Mister Hackett. He's actually really nice, Richard's just spoiled."

"How does someone really nice turn out such a... spoilt brat?"

"It's the other children that did it," said Myth. "They put him up to it, really. He was really nice when I met him. But his parents wanted him to play with his own kind, and they weren't so good."

"He sounds weak."

"I don't think they liked him being friends with someone who didn't age as quickly as he did," said Myth with a sad frown.

"That doesn't matter to me," said Anduin. "You came over after the Third War? What do you mean when you said your... An'da woke up?"

The two boys sat in the autumn sun and spoke all day. Kair had once been a druid, by the sounds of it, and upon the death of his wife had been stirred from deep within the barrow dens to take care of his son, whom he hadn't seen since he was an infant. They'd lived in Hyjal once upon a time, but instead of choosing to help restore Nordrassil, Kair came to Stormwind with a scant handful of other druids and his son — the only night elven child in the entirety of the Eastern Kingdoms.

"Night elves don't have many children," said Myth. "We take a long time to grow and with our immortality there was never much rush, An'da said. And our kind aren't very fertile. But there are more children being conceived now."

Anduin watched Myth unfurl like a flower over the day, ignoring his growing hunger pains in exchange for seeing the boy light up as Anduin asked him questions about himself, overjoyed at the attention. Myth chattered happily about life in the park, things he and Richard once did, life in Stormwind, his dog Crithto. The little dog in question occasionally hovered about, or tore away across the grass and would disappear for a time. "He does what he wants, really," said Myth.

As the sun grew lower in the sky Anduin's hunger became harder to ignore. Myth didn't seem very phased by his own growling stomach, and seemed happy and bubbly until dark figures appeared, armed, in the dusk.

"Uh oh," Myth went white. "They brought sticks. They're going to hurt us!"

Anduin shrugged and pored over the ground, selecting a stick of his own.

"What are you doing?"

Anduin said, "I'm not sure I can take four at once."

"You're going to _fight them_?" Myth sounded close to panic.

Anduin said, "Have they ever been trained in sword fighting?"

Myth shook his head slowly.

"Fencing?"

"No," said Myth.

"Huh, then in that case I'll probably be able to take them after all."

Uncle Bolvar — Anduin found himself almost missing him — had always said that peaceful means were to be used wherever possible. But malice shone in the eyes of their incoming attackers, and Anduin knew it would be futile. They wanted nothing more than to hurt him and Myth. They didn't care that he and Myth were outnumbered, nor that Myth was so small.

They were cowards.

And just like cowards would, when Anduin roared like a madman and charged towards them full tilt, all four dropped their weapons and scattered. Laughing uproariously, Anduin returned to Myth's side. Myth whooped and cheered as loud as his voice could carry in the still air. The four children, realising they'd been fooled, glowered at the two of them in a nervous cluster. Anduin made a rude gesture.

Myth grinned at Anduin. "An'da will have dinner ready soon," he said. "Want to come for dinner? He might not say yes but I can ask..."

Anduin didn't even hesitate. "Yes, please!"


	10. Hora's Advice

_**A/N:** You guys have been spoiling me so much with reviews. :D So here, have a small chapter!_

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**Chapter Nine**

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Myth led him to a small, purple house crammed between its neighbours, retrieving a key from his pocket. Anduin marvelled at the tiny size of the place as he stepped inside. Compared to the Keep, it was so _small_.

A deep voice, speaking the flowery language of the elves, called out to Myth as the boy shut the door behind them, accompanied by the smell of something delicious. Anduin's stomach contorted painfully. "An'da," said Myth, before continuing in Common. "I have a new friend, may he stay for dinner?"

There was a brief period of silence, the faint clinking of some utensil or other being put down and a blinking night elf appeared in a doorway. The delicious smell wafted in behind him. The night elf stared at Anduin. "Oh!" he said, after a moment, Darnassian accent already evident in his tone. "It is a pleasure to have a guest, always. Welcome, welcome. What is your name, child?"

Anduin would have normally bristled at being addressed as such, but he found himself smiling at the welcoming tone of voice, free of condescension. Perhaps it was an elven thing — Maeqa sometimes addressed those younger than her as "child". "Andy," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. And thank you for having me."

The night elf smiled dreamily. "How polite. My name is Kair Emberfleet. It has been a while since we had guests, so excuse the mess. Please, make yourself at home."

"Thank you, Mister Emberfleet."

The elf chuckled. "Kair is fine enough, child."

"What's for dinner?" Myth asked.

"Come see." Kair frowned. "Did you fall out of a tree again, Myth?"

Myth touched the bruise on his cheek. "Yeah."

"You should be more careful."

Kair beckoned them both into the kitchen, where he set a reluctant Myth to work. Anduin didn't recognise the food at all, nor the Darnassian name Kair supplied — it seemed to be something made entirely of plants and vegetables he'd never heard of. Anduin normally turned his nose up at greens, but it would be rude to in someone else's house, and he was already salivating at the aroma. If it had been gruel, he would've wolfed it down, but this… did all Darnassian cooking smell so yummy?

"May I help, please?" said Anduin.

Kair opened his mouth as if to deny him, but he seemed to reconsider at the hopeful look in Anduin's eyes and set him to crushing some strange nuts into powder with the flat of a knife. With his friend at the counter, Myth smiled and seemed far more enthusiastic about chopping up peacebloom stalks.

Anduin pondered the wisdom of letting such a small child use a knife. Fordragon hadn't allowed _him_ to use a knife, ever, and it was only when he was under the lonely supervision Maeqa that his night elven bodyguard would roll her eyes at "overprotective humans" and promised not to speak a word if Anduin chopped his own apple. But Myth seemed to manage the sharpened utensil without any difficulty. Perhaps it was yet another Darnassian thing. One would think the elves would be more protective over their children, but when Myth cut his finger he merely yipped, wrapped the finger in a small bandage, and went right on with his task.

_He's forty, remember,_ thought Anduin. No doubt human children looked total idiots to night elven ones, who had much longer childhoods in which to learn and make mistakes.

After the initial silence, soft conversation bubbled up between them. Kair, with hair as pale-blue as Myth's, seemed to be where Myth had inherited his soft-spoken voice from. Kair was a gentle contrast to Lady Prestor's abrasiveness and Uncle Bolvar's — well. Bolvar had never been loud, but he'd never been quiet either. When he spoke, he was heard. Anduin missed something Kair had said more than once, and focused intently to catch every word the quiet night elf said.

Anduin hadn't had so much fun in his life. In spite of Myth seeming to despair of chores, Anduin had always longed to help, and here he found purpose and fulfilment; stirring the pot on the stove, adding the ingredients carefully, watching their project grow. It grew to a point where Kair merely stood by with that soft smile of his, giving directions as the boys carried them out. He closed the curtains in the main room, blotting out the dark veil of night and the last sliver of twilight.

Finally, when Anduin thought he'd die of starvation, Kair pronounced dinner ready. To Kair's amazement Anduin set the table perfectly and without second thought. The night elf chuckled. "We only need a simple knife, fork and spoon for this meal," he said to Anduin. "Though I am impressed you seem to identify different types of forks, let alone arrange them in the correct order!"

Anduin had forgotten commoners tended to have only one course. Some didn't even have dessert — but _he_ certainly wasn't complaining. If he'd only eaten this particular dish for the rest of his life he'd die a happy man. Besides, it meant he could wolf down everything on his plate without having to worry about saving room for another course. It tasted even better than it had smelled!

They ate in a dining room which may have been bigger if it were not so cluttered with books. With every spare wall dedicated to literature which had overflowed onto stacks on the ground, the place had grown cramped. Myth navigated through the obstacles on the floor as easily as a fish in water. His more oblivious father knocked over a tower of books whenever he turned around. He laughed softly at the third pile that scattered across the floor, and Anduin couldn't help but smile as he stooped pick them up. "I have to take these to the royal library later," said Kair. "I hoard so many books I simply can't keep them all."

Myth's face glowed with love as he regarded his father. "I know it's a bad day at the store when An'da only brings three home."

Anduin could remember Donyal Tovald occasionally speaking of a regular, night elven donor who often brought dozens of books at a time when he visited, though Anduin had never had the honour of meeting said donor until now. Bolvar used to read often, Anduin remembered with a pang. He didn't as often these days, but it used to be you could never catch him in his spare time without his nose in a book. But that had been back when he was captain of the palace guard, before Adam Rivers took over, before the Suicide Squad was formed. Before he became too busy to interact with Anduin, before Katrana Prestor had piled stress upon him.

Anduin cleared his plate. "That didn't touch the sides," Kair remarked with a smile. "Seconds?"

"Yes please!"

When Anduin had finally eaten fit to burst, Kair stacked their plates in silence and left the room with that odd smile of his. Anduin looked to a softly-smiling Myth and said, "Does he know about the other children? How they treat you?"

Myth's reverie was shattered. "No," he said, frowning. "Please don't tell him, he would worry!"

Anduin hesitated. But then, he was here now, and would be for some time until the search was called off. He would defend the boy. And besides, Myth was keeping his own secret, and Anduin was in his debt already. "I shan't speak of it," he promised.

Myth relaxed. "Do you have a place to sleep tonight?" he said, seeming to be grateful to change the subject.

Oh, hell. Anduin hadn't thought of that — he'd been too wrapped up in chatting and playing with Myth all day.

"What do you mean, Myth?" said Kair from the doorway.

Myth froze. Anduin quickly scrabbled. "I live with my aunt and uncle," he said. Obviously the night elf wasn't as oblivious as Anduin had thought. "They had to travel tonight to visit a sick relative, but the people I was supposed to be with had forgotten and gone away, but by the time I came back home my aunt and uncle were already gone."

Kair stared. "That's terrible!" he exclaimed. "Well, isn't it a good thing you came here? You should stay in Myth's room for tonight, and perhaps something can be arranged after."

The last thing Anduin wanted was for Kair to ask around after this fictional, neglectful caregiver. "I'm sure my grandparents will be back in the morning," said Anduin with a smile. "I'll check at around lunch time. Thank you so much, Kair."

Kair set up a small bedroll on the floor of Myth's almost-empty room. While Myth had a small pile of books of his own, it seemed that the boy had most of his entertainment from playing outside and owned few things. Then again, aside from books, the Emberfleets didn't seem to own much at all. Kair immediately declared Myth could sleep on the floor that night.

Anduin didn't argue until the lights were out and he said, "Myth. Swap? This is your bed."

"Nuh uh," said Myth, but he moved anyway. He crept into bed and snuggled into Anduin. Touched, Anduin wrapped an arm around the small night elf. Myth mumbled sleepily, "Glad to have made a friend."

And, beyond belief, Anduin was grateful, too.

The darkness of night pulled him into a loving embrace, the sound of distant thunder soothing him, where he dreamed of being a mighty hero who liberated his father from his enigmatic, faraway prison.

He'd bring Varian back. He had to.

-o-O-o-

Back at the Keep, Bolvar got to play the fun game of "let's-pretend-shit-didn't-just-hit-the-windmill."

"A thief who happens to be called 'Andrew'?" said a guard to another under her breath as they walked into the cloak of darkness underneath the press of the heavy clouds above, "Like hell. This isn't going to end well, mark my words."

Bolvar was going to neither confirm nor deny anything, and he was tired as hell. The Keep had been in an uproar all day, but only a handful of people knew the true reason - to the grand majority of the staff and nobles, some servant boy had made off with one of Prince Anduin's cherished possessions, an heirloom, and bolted with it. But already the sinking ship had sprung a leak, and rumours of Anduin's disappearance whispered through the hallways.

They were drowning.

The half-dozen of them — Bolvar, Prestor, Rivers, Shaw, Foris and Maeqa — plugged as many holes as they could, and suddenly it felt like Varian's disappearance all over again. The Nobles hadn't known about _that_ for two weeks, either, until Varian's return had grown more and more unlikely and Prestor had been forced to admit what had happened. But before then, Bolvar could remember the rumours circulating the guards like wildfire only three days after Varian had been supposed to arrive at Theramore.

A furious Katrana Prestor had pushed and pushed for Maeqa to be fired, but Bolvar managed to help the night elf get away with only a severe reprimand and a dock in pay with the condition that if Anduin was in danger, Maeqa would not come back whether he returned safely or not. Accidents happened — never before had Maeqa had any need _not_ to accept any food or drink Anduin had given her, and in her position Bolvar would have done exactly the same and had forced Katrana to admit similarly. The night elven woman tore herself up with guilt, and she and Foris had marched off into the city hours ago with a handful of SI:7 operatives (who had been given the 'servant boy' story) determined not to rest until Prince Anduin was found. Accident or not, all kinds of disastrous consequences could surface. Not just for Anduin, but for the entire kingdom. Stormwind stood upon the brink of chaos. It was bad enough the King was gone, but if his only heir was gone too...

Light only knew what could happen.

Anduin could not have gotten far. Prestor had said, "Mark my words, he'll be back by lunch," but Anduin had not reappeared and the guards were still combing Old Town and the Dwarven District. He couldn't have gotten far — the city was huge, one small boy who hadn't been in it since his mother's funeral wouldn't want to stray too far from home. But as the hours ticked by, as the sun peaked in the sky, descended the blue and hid under the horizon, Anduin had not reappeared.

Anduin had just vanished — there had been no sightings of a boy in a white shirt, brown pants and a woollen hat. Bolvar wasn't surprised, either; Anduin couldn't have disappeared into of thin air, but who would notice? People only saw what was out of the ordinary, and a boy wandering Stormwind was far from unusual — children roamed around all the time. Light knew how many complaints he'd heard about two children tearing around with a doll and taunting each other near the Trade District.

"Spread out to Cathedral Square," said Fordragon to Rivers. Then added, "And Trade. I doubt he'd go to the Trade district, but he'll have wanted to buy food, if he didn't appeal to the priests."

At first he'd been angry, but now pure worry consumed him. Worry for Anduin's fate. Worry for the fate of Stormwind, and the Alliance. Worry for what would happen when the other cities found out — if they had to. Gods, he hope they wouldn't have to. Worry for what the new day dawning without a safe Anduin could bring. If he wasn't back by morning…

What had brought Anduin to run away? He'd been so different lately; normally the boy was as good as gold, even from a young age, an extreme rarity in children who _weren't_ wealthy, let alone the prince. But it seemed that in the past handful of months, Anduin had spent all the sullen behaviour he'd been saving up. And this... _this_...

"_You_," said a stern voice behind Bolvar, who stood at the mouth of the keep staring into the water. "Return to your quarters and sleep, you are doing us all no favours running yourself to the ground."

_And __you__ shut up_, Bolvar wanted to bite back.

"Earlier you informed me you had not slept all night," said Lady Prestor's fluid voice as she stepped beside him without looking at him. She stared into the dark sky instead, pregnant with clouds — as if things could get any worse, the weather conspired against them too. "Dead on your feet, you are useless to us."

"I was a soldier once. I know how to go without sleep."

Lady Prestor let out that trademark, long-suffering sigh of hers. Her fingertips brushed against his arm, her electric touch jolting his heart. "Go to sleep, Bolvar."

Bolvar stared at her. Since when was _she_ ever concerned for the wellbeing of anyone else? If he wasn't so wracked with tension he would have laughed — men in the Keep would _kill_ to have Lady Prestor touch them like that! Heck, they'd kill more than once for her to touch them more…

"She's right," said another voice from the shadows. "We'll wake you immediately upon any further development."

"I shall search for him myself," said Prestor. With a rustle of fabric she pulled her cloak tight around her in the cold air, her grey eyes wandering the sky from underneath her hood. "Cathedral Square, perhaps. He will seek shelter in the cathedral when the rain comes, and he knows the priests." She looked to Shaw. "I shall speak with the Archbishop. I believe he is trustworthy."

Shaw paused, then nodded. "But swear him to secrecy," said Shaw. "The less people who know, the better. He _is_ trustworthy, but we must be extremely select in who we tell. The moment a criminal hears of this, Anduin is as good as dead."

"And _you_ — go inside," said Prestor, turning her glare on Bolvar.

"Wake me in three hours," he said with a sigh, too tired to argue. Prestor nodded.

He returned the gesture. His armour clinked as he made his way up the blue and white slope of the main corridor, the bright light stinging his eyes.

In the distance, he heard thunder.

-o-O-o-

Onyxia liked this less and less by the moment. A hidden Dragonspawn appears in the Keep — and days later, Anduin disappears. True, the boy ran away…

… But just who had waited for him in the shadows? There had to be a reason Anduin had not come home yet, unless the rain had driven him past Katrana to the Keep.

In Stormwind, Onyxia was impotent. She would arouse suspicion if she left for Blackrock to chew her brother out. She would not find Anduin in Cathedral Square, and no matter how much she called that vile nickname "Andy", nobody would answer. And nobody _did_ answer, though she called nonetheless. When the clouds gave out and released a downpour upon her, it failed to flush out any sheepish prince.

"He must be found _immediately_," Katrana hissed to the Archbishop under her breath, who only five minutes ago had blinked sleep out of his eyes. The minute he'd been sworn to secrecy he'd jerked awake — never before had Katrana Prestor paid a personal visit. "Send out your priests. The cover story is that he's a boy named Andrew who made off with a precious heirloom of Anduin's, a thief caught in the rain. Pretend he's wounded, do anything you can to force them to work faster."

The Archbishop nodded. "I understand."

"Alert us immediately if you find something."

"You must consider that if the boy has yet to return — "

" — that somebody may have him," said Katrana. "Stormwind Intelligence is ahead of you, old man, but we must cast our net as far out as possible."

"Understandable." Benedictus pressed his mouth into a thin line.

The rain taunted her and pulled her into a chilly hug as she stepped out, the enormous doors closing behind her. Her shoes soaked through on the naked steps, and her sodden hood dampened her hair. "Andrew!" she called out. The rain crashed over her voice.

To _hell_ with that wretch!

"To find a boy, you have to think like a boy," said a voice by her knee.

If it weren't for her keen hearing, Katrana wouldn't have perceived her over the rain. She narrowed her eyes at the gnome beside her.

"I could not help but overhear!" said the gnome. "My apologies for startling you, Lady."

Oh, _fel_. Briefly, Katrana considered dragging the gnome into an alley and slaughtering her — but no, that was the human influence speaking. Onyxia cared not if the entirety of the Eastern Kingdoms found out about Anduin's disappearance. Let the brat cause more chaos and disillusion.

"You speak not a word of this to anyone else," said Katrana.

"Of course not," the gnome bowed. "I would not endanger the boy's life."

The entire city, naturally, was likely to know by dawn, Katrana thought with a sneer.

She recognised her. It was the gnome who'd killed her kin, the blonde who'd saved Leonardo Withering. And yet, there was something else familiar about her that Katrana could not place. "And just _what_ are you doing in the rain in the middle of the night?"

"Giving advice," said the gnome.

"Oh, pray, _tell_," Katrana snarled.

The gnome smiled as if she hadn't detected the sarcasm. "Humans, I find, are an odd culture, uncomfortable around the shorter races for, ah, obvious reasons," she said, tilting her head and aiming a penetrating gaze at Katrana. Katrana glared back. "But I find the more I _think_ like a human, the more they treat me as if I am one. They forget I'm not human. It's a nice little trick."

Her tone was too meaningful for Onyxia's liking. "Is there a point to this?"

"To find a boy, think like a boy," said the gnome, "If you were a runaway prince, where would you go? What would you look for? What is your purpose?"

... _Hell_.

"If you were too proud to come back," said the gnome, "who would you go to for help? What are you attracted to about the world outside you've never seen?"

"Well done, gnome," Katrana drawled. "You are not entirely useless." Already, ideas took form. Samantha had read to the boy too many stories of heroes and villains, he was too fixated on his father, often asked Maeqa about...

The Park.

The gnome laughed. And that, out of all things — that gave Onyxia pause, her muscles freezing as the sound bathed her. That niggling sense of familiarity, the idea that she _knew_ the gnome, persisted. Deep within the dark recesses of memory she searched for the source.

And from her memory she heard a tune. A few soft notes of lyrics she had forgotten, a single bar that repeated itself over and over, the sound of a man humming…

She shook it off. No doubt Katrana Prestor's mind was malfunctioning. The human brain often did for no reason. Never in Katrana Prestor's lifetime had she heard that tune, or she would recall from where. Her memory was sharp, after all, especially when it came to events of the last fifty years.

Without a goodbye, she left the gnome.

The heavens continued to pelt water at her, along with something else. Katrana almost fell over as something large collided with her.

She almost roared in fury, but it died in her throat. A black whelp lay on the cobblestones, close to unconsciousness. Immediately, she scooped him up.

"Jettion?" she said. Fel — had her brother given him _no_ time to rest between receiving her letter and sending his response? A whelp was not built to travel such distances without a break — she'd only sent the letter that morning!

Jettion's wing folded to protect the envelope he held from the wet. He cooed unhappily. He could have _died_! Onyxia hissed. She was going to _kill_ Romathis...

"Jettion," she said. She glanced around, but the gnome was gone, and she was alone in the square save for the distant cries of, "_Andrew, Andrew!_" "Jettion," she said again, before any guards could filter into the square. "_Did Anduin ever speak to you of running away?_"

The whelp looked up at her, eyes clouded with fatigue. "_Often_," he answered in Draconic.

Priests began to spill out of the cathedral. Guards gradually emerged into the square. "_Where has he gone?_" she whispered.

"_Is he gone again?_" the whelp said quietly. "_He never told me._"

"_I will give you water_," she murmured to him, "_but before you rest I have work for you to do. We must check the park."_

She gently pried the damp envelope from his little grasp and hid it in the warm safety of her cloak. Hopefully, the writing inside had not been destroyed. But even if it hadn't, there was little Romathis could say that could stop Onyxia from ripping out his throat next time she saw him.


	11. Suspicion and Paranoia

_**A/N:**__Chapter updates will slow down after this one while I iron out some kinks in the story while I still have a buffer! Don't worry, shan't be slower than one a week, I'm just an incredibly controlling writer who's hit a bit of a roadblock five chapters from here. As always, thanks for the lovely reviews!_

_Also, I've been fiddling with the summary. I hope it's more compelling than the first was!_

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**Chapter Ten**

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Bolvar's first thought upon waking was, _what the hell is Katrana Prestor doing in my bedroom?_

His second thought said, _you act like this is a problem._

"Get up," said Katrana Prestor.

His first retorted, _you only said that because she hadn't opened her mouth yet._

Bolvar longed to curl up underneath the covers and fall back into sweet oblivion, but forced himself to sit up, his mind groggy and slow. He peered at Lady Prestor through heavy eyelids, fighting back a yawn, his armour gently clinking with subtle movement. He must have fallen onto the bed without undressing, he realised.

"There's a knocker on my door for a reason," he grunted. His self consciousness had yet to kick in and he rubbed an eye with the heel of his hand, the other still squinting at her. "_Knock_ before you come in."

"You wanted to be woken, so I am waking you." Lady Prestor gave him a long, hard stare. A black, damp cloak clung to her form, her hood casting odd shadows on her face in the flickering light of the lantern she held. She balanced Jettion expertly in the crook of her other elbow, her slender fingers stroking the shivering whelp underneath the chin. "I can leave you there if you prefer, but I do not fancy being sulked at in the morning for not holding your hand as you get out of bed."

Bolvar stared at her for a long moment, the rusty gears in his head straining to turn, before his heart rose to his throat and his stomach began to churn.

_Anduin_. For a few blessed hours, he'd had the privilege of not having to think about it. Obviously he hadn't come back. If he had, Lady Prestor would have told him by now.

"Give me a moment," said Bolvar quietly. "I need to get dressed."

"As you wish." With a swirl of skirts and the chattering of Jettion's teeth, the door clicked shut behind her.

His muscles knotted up as he redressed, fingers fumbling with the catches of his armour and, moments later, the buttons of his shirt. The nap had done nothing to drive away exhaustion, and every clouded step felt difficult. He'd been so tired he hadn't even locked his door, he realised now. No wonder Prestor had just _come in_ like she owned the place. He gave a low hiss of irritation, his anxiety transmuting into annoyance.

Anger. That emotion was much more useful than chronic worry.

Fel. Maybe Lady Prestor subscribed to the same idea.

He found her in his sitting room, with the whelp curled up by the flickering fireplace — kind of Lady Prestor to light it, and uncharacteristic — and her cloak still obscuring her form. Her hood now rested on her shoulders, revealing stray ringlets plastered to her cheek and slender neck.

"I brought coffee," said Lady Prestor. "And dinner. Eat."

For a moment Bolvar thought he'd been too tired to hear her properly, until he saw the evidence on the table beside the lantern. What the _hell_? Since when did Lady Prestor ever bring _anyone_ something to eat?

But he sat down without complaint and gestured for her to do the same. She sank into the arm chair opposite him, peeling off her cloak as he took the mug of coffee with a, "Thanks."

She nodded at him, regal as ever, one leg crossed over the other underneath her skirt, her cloak folded on her lap. Bolvar hesitated before taking his first sip, the scent cutting through the hazy cloud of fatigue and urging him to wakefulness. He gazed at her for a moment.

She stared back.

"They haven't found him," he said.

"No," she said.

Bolvar sipped the scalding liquid, trying not to wince when it burned his tongue. He blew, watching steam curl in the air and tiny ripples echo in the mug.

"This was very kind of you," he murmured. "Why did you do it?"

She leaned back, but Bolvar wasn't fooled — she sat as stiff as a board, head held high and alert, her posture rigid. She did not like it here. "Stormwind is going to fall apart if Anduin is not found, and if you keel over in the street dead of starvation that leaves me to clean up the mess alone. I do not look forward to that prospect."

He smiled without mirth at her grim humour. "You found Jettion," he said, glancing to the pile of dragon beside the fire. The whelp purred, pressed so close to the grate that if he were any other animal, Bolvar would have worried he'd ignite.

"I found him in the rain, tired from the hunt," said Katrana.

"I saw him zip around this morning." Was it this morning? Or had it been yesterday? But Bolvar glanced at the curtained windows and saw no light spill from behind. Still dark, then. _Of course_, he thought, kicking himself mentally. _She wouldn't have brought a lantern if it was morning!_

And Anduin was out there, in that darkness, somewhere. Tired, definitely. Hungry. Cold. Wet. Where was he? Where was he that he had not yet come home if he could?

Guilt gnawed at his insides. He should be out there, on the streets, looking for Anduin. Gods — Varian would never forgive him. How could he be so _careless_? How was it _nobody_ found Anduin yet? _Where was he?_

To at least delude himself into feeling useful, he stood up to pace along the well-worn track in the carpet. He heard a hiss of irritation from Katrana. Of course, she hated it when he paced, but tonight he couldn't care less. "How good are dragons at sniffing things out?"

"I've already taken Jettion all over Stormwind," said Katrana. "I returned moments ago, as you can see. The rain has washed all scent away and not even Shaw's dogs are having any luck." She nodded at Bolvar's dismayed expression. "Indeed, they were brought out far too late."

He wasn't hungry, but he made himself swipe a sandwich from the tray. "Give me the rest of your report."

"Stormwind is under partial lockdown," said Katrana Prestor. "Nobody will leave the city until dawn, at which point we will be forced to open the gates so as to allow farmers in with their food. The flight masters have been woken up and alerted that the airspace has been shut down and they are banned from allowing anyone to leave until further notice. The lockdown was put in too late, I fear — anyone who may have captured Anduin should surely be far away by now, but at least if they have dawdled they may be caught attempting to leave. As for the Keep, the lockdown is still under effect. Out of all the staff in the Keep, you, I and Captain Rivers are the only ones permitted to walk around unhindered. The guards have had their duties taken over by SI:7 rogues, for now."

Capture. That could be the only reason Anduin had not come back already. And, worse yet — possibly by the very same people, whoever they were, that took Varian…

"My personal theory is that the boy left to search for his father on some foolish quest," said Lady Prestor. Bolvar didn't bother argue. He was sure Anduin was more down-to-earth than that, but now was not a time to brush aside theories. "To that end I have had Master Shaw dispatch Stormwind Intelligence agents to watch the harbour and the tram for any unsupervised children, as well as keeping a close eye on the Park, a place I believe Anduin was fascinated enough by that he may have gone there."

"That far?"

"It would not serve to underestimate the boy," said Lady Prestor. "In addition to that, we have agents waking the homeless and searching among their population, in case someone may have taken the runaway under their wing."

"Even _Anduin_ has pride," said Bolvar.

"And yet, he has not come home."

Bolvar took another sip of his coffee in silence, forcing himself not to contemplate the implications.

Katrana said, "One, two, three, four…"

She hated it when he paced, and he knew it.

He hated it when she counted his steps, and she knew it.

"What happens at dawn when the lockdown is lifted?" he said, cutting across her.

"Five, six — people at the gates will be searched. Ships will not be permitted to leave the harbour. The trams will remain stopped, and the gryphon masters will not allow anyone to fly away."

"People are going to ask why. That response doesn't suit a thief and a nicked heirloom."

"Master Shaw's concocting a story about a missing diplomat. Three, four…"

Bolvar snorted. "Oh, that one again?"

"It worked last time. Six, seven, _turn_ — " just as Bolvar did an about face to resume more steps.

He shot her a glare. "You think they'll believe the same story twice in a row?"

Katrana Prestor shrugged lightly again. "We never said it was the _same_ diplomat. Six, seven, eight — oh my, eight steps, Bolvar? You rebel."

"Just to spite you, sweet Katrana."

"In any case, we cannot keep things this way forever," said Katrana Prestor. "Three days should be long enough. If he's not found after that…"

Silence sank its icy claws into Bolvar's core. At least, until Katrana started counting again.

If Anduin wasn't found in three days, he was as good as dead. A struggle for power would ensue — however little Bolvar interacted with the other nobles, he knew some despised him and would gladly see him removed from power. The most likely one sat right in front of him at this very moment. He did not believe for one moment that Katrana Prestor was responsible for Varian Wrynn's disappearance, nor Anduin's, but cruel rumours often circulated about the woman's intentions and ambitions and he'd be a fool to ignore them completely. Thankfully, more people hated Katrana Prestor than him — she had no friends in the court because of the condescending and cold way she treated others.

"Five, six, seven, _turn_, one, two…"

But that did not cancel out the fact that some nobles would move in for the kill. That some might resort to violence. That the Defias would take advantage, the Horde would take advantage… not to mention what would happen if Bolvar somehow maintained power. That would only postpone the inevitable. Bolvar had no heir, and if he was forced to take the throne for real, who knew what would happen with his death?

"Seven, _turn_, one, two, three, four…"

He was terrified for Anduin, but this was no ordinary case of a missing boy. If Anduin was dead, the heartbreak and the pain of mourning him would be nothing in comparison to the political shitstorm that would ensue. Bolvar found himself already counting off the likely suspects — Lady Tariona White was almost as ruthless as Lady Prestor was, however quiet and obedient she seemed to be otherwise, and was rumoured to know Rudolphus Withering, the legendary assassin, personally. If Lady Prestor didn't immediately turn on him like a rabid dog, he'd be surprised. Lord Fletcher, another outspoken noble in assemblies, was hardly a hateful man but still had a quiet, reserved intelligence about him that made Bolvar uncomfortable. Lord Taylor, Lord Lescovar, Count Ridgewell… and so many more nobles. Who knew what they would all do?

And poor, poor Anduin…

"Three, four, five, six, seven, _turn_…"

Bolvar wordlessly threw himself into his armchair, almost spilling what was left of his coffee. Katrana Prestor stopped counting, looking smug.

Silenced stretched between them for a moment.

Bolvar said, "He ran away. But someone was waiting. I'm sure of it. Someone who might have even encouraged him, or pushed him to run away. Someone within who took advantage of the chaos. He would surely have come home otherwise." He stood up. "Dragons. It has to be dragons."

"I should certainly hope not," sneered Katrana.

"They kidnap people, in the legends, and it's already been proven that they don't _just_ transform into humans or elves like in the tales. Do you think — "

"If the dragons have indeed captured Anduin," said Katrana, "then perhaps it is in response to the expedition."

Fel. Katrana Prestor was so obsessed with her dragons that the entire court often questioned what lewd acts she'd get up to if she was alone with one. Bolvar stopped himself rolling his eyes just in time. "There hasn't even been enough time for them to _get_ there yet, let alone for them to be detected and a counterattack made."

"Unless they found out," Katrana met his eyes. "I doubt the dragons would do this. It's… too convenient."

Did he detect uncertainty? "You have a point, but we cannot rule it out," he said.

"No," said Prestor quietly, to his surprise, brow furrowed. Her brilliant brain worked a million miles a minute behind her sharp features. "We cannot."

"In any case," said Bolvar, "Wake Samantha, Miss Perin, and get Rivers from wherever he is - we have interviews to conduct, roll calls to make and we need to find out, above all else, who came and went before the lockdown."

"Shaw is far ahead of you on that front," said Lady Prestor, rising. "He is already conducting interviews. He will want to speak to us later."

"I'll have to find him."

Lady Prestor didn't argue as he herded her out of the door. If anything, she seemed strangely subdued. He caught a glimpse of a crease of worry in her scowl as he closed the door behind her.

Katrana Prestor had always been the one person who could be relied on to keep a cool head in a crisis, the one person who wouldn't have flinched if Arthas himself strode into the throne room and turned everyone around her undead. However questionable and enigmatic her motives were, she was the one person he wanted on his side if the walls fell down around them, if Stormwind was in uproar, if the end was coming.

Katrana Prestor, the one part of Stormwind Keep that changed slower than the stone used to build the walls, was anxious.

And if _she_ was worried, it meant everyone else wasn't worried _enough_.

-o-O-o-

In Katrana Prestor's lifetime, Onyxia had felt helpless only twice before.

The first time was in the Second War when the walls closed in, the darkest moments of the Black Dragonflight's history. Deathwing fell, but it was not this loss that Onyxia mourned most — it was the Dark Portal's collapse that gutted her. Sabellian had been on the other side of that portal, his brood trapped and abandoned in the Blade's Edge Mountains. Unable to perform the mourning call in his honour while bound in the form of a human, Katrana Prestor had locked herself in one of the palace's training rooms and spent hours blowing up the target dummies within.

The second was not that long ago, shortly after her eggs had been laid within the Wyrmbog. Adam Rivers always received Onyxia's letters — too many letters addressed to Katrana Prestor would grow suspicious, and the Obsidian Flight had long established a system for communication with their spies in Stormwind. Onyxia could remember the one day he brought her the news clearly — sitting behind her desk, the fire crackling in the grate and turning her room stuffy in spite of the summer, just the way she liked it, and the rustling the parchment made as she unfolded it.

It had been a letter from her eldest and now-only surviving daughter. Orion, her mate, had been working in the Steppes with her brother to establish a foothold there after Redridge had taken matters into its own hands and attempted to regain Morgan's Vigil. They'd been driven back in the end, Onyxia read, but it cost the life of Onyxia's prime and only living consort.

Out of all the consorts she'd had over the millennia, Orion had been the most memorable and the only one whom Onyxia hadn't tried to kill at some point of her life. Orion and Sabellian had been as close as black dragons could be, an odd friendship that almost resembled mortal friendships, before the Portal had been shut down.

Orion had been her last tether to her brother.

On both occasions, Onyxia could do nothing but remain with the humans, lest she wished to spoil everything they'd ever worked for. She wanted vengeance — but there had been nothing she could do. _Nothing_. She could not slaughter humans for Orion's death without heavy retribution, she could not reach through millions of miles of Nether and bring her brother home.

She was only one dragon.

Today, the feeling came rushing back, coupled with paranoia. She was almost confident of it now — Romathis had taken Anduin. No doubt he wanted to usurp her power within the Flight and leave her to the dogs. And like twice before, locked behind wooden doors and hidden behind stone walls, she could do _nothing_. She could not leave and confront him without arousing suspicion, just as she could not abandon her post during her brother's probable death and Orion's defeat.

If Romathis betrayed her now, if he defied her and did as he willed — Onyxia was trapped. If he'd ordered Omnarion to keep quiet about his betrayal, then there was little Onyxia could do. She could hardly threaten Omnarion to be loyal to her — Omnarion and his men had been a gift from her brother, they weren't _her_ forces. She would be as good as Omnarion's prisoner.

Speak of the demon — a knock sounded on her door. "Master Shaw has sent for you," said Captain Rivers. Dark, wet hair coiled against his forehead. "Everyone is being questioned and it will be your turn soon."

"I see," said Katrana, pulling a fresh, warm cloak from its hook. Rivers stepped aside as Katrana closed the door behind her, her footsteps echoing in the cold, deserted corridor. Her voice said coldly, "Captain — "

"Nice night, isn't it?" said Rivers, and Katrana's words died in her throat.

_We are being watched_.

Only after Rivers had said the apparently innocent words did the hair on the back of Katrana's neck rise. She sniffed the still air and detected a whiff of leather, and sweat. Rogues, no doubt, some of Shaw's men. "If you enjoy being drenched and the possibility of our little thief being cold and wet then, indeed, it is a nice night."

A comment on the weather made by a dragonspawn was code for, _we are not alone._ More than once had Rivers been forced to improvise a fake report on the spot rather than deliver his real message because there were humans nearby. Katrana longed to chew him out. _Did a dragon kidnap him? Are you behind this? _

It would have to wait.

Highlord Fordragon waited for them outside of his study, his forehead creased in worry. Rogues peeled away from the shadows, bowed as if they were controlled by a single entity, and led the way out of the Keep.

"I was thinking," said Fordragon, as Rivers followed them in silence. "Are you familiar with Hora Peddlefeet?"

"Hora — a name derived from an Old Common word meaning 'time.' Peddlefeet — the last name of that obnoxious goblin who attempts to pair everyone off during the love holiday in February."

"No, I mean the gnome."

"I know no gnomes by that name."

"She saved Leo from our scaly intruder last week," said Fordragon.

"I have encountered her since, yes," said Katrana. "Why do you ask?"

Fordragon dropped his voice. "Who _is_ she?"

"I know not. I have met her only once."

"She's not with the Brotherhood, she's no noble. We have visitors from the public all the time, but what was she doing here?" Fordragon shook his head. "Perhaps I'm merely being paranoid, but it seems odd. Just who is she?"

"You suspect she is not truly a gnome?" said Katrana.

And almost stopped in her tracks.

_Hora_. It meant "time." "Hour," to be much more precise.

_The more I think like a human, the more they treat me as if I am one…_

Her tone had been too meaningful then. Far too meaningful. Katrana clenched her jaw. And, that odd little tune she'd remembered, the laugh that sounded familiar…

She hadn't met Hora Peddlefeet in Katrana Prestor's lifetime. She'd met her long before, hadn't she? So long ago Onyxia had long forgotten.

"She simply showed up," said Fordragon. "I think it might be worth it to investigate her, at least a little. Just check she is who she says she is."

This was not good. A Bronze knew things about the future that Onyxia could only begin to guess at. If her identity as Katrana Prestor ever became public at any point in the future, whether she'd revealed herself or someone else had, the Bronze would know. And the Bronze would be in a prime position to pass that information on…

Katrana hissed. Just what was a Bronze doing near her? Why was she here? At least, if she did not want mortals to find her, she could simply vanish and reappear next week. Or yesterday. Or six months ago. Or three years from now. Bronzes were unpredictable. No one ever knew what side a Bronze was on. The Bronze might even be here to aid her — for the sole purpose of defeating her later. Bronzes had been known to form alliances with the most despised of demons and mortals, allowing the most horrific events to happen, because in the end those events _had_ to happen.

Why was the Bronze here now? What did this "Hora" — whatever her true name was — hope to achieve?

It had something to do with Onyxia. It _had_ to. She must have known Romathis's spy would attempt to assassinate Leonardo.

Katrana Prestor had to be vigilant. The appearance of a Bronze was almost guaranteed to be bad news. If a Bronze was here, something significant was about to happen, whether tomorrow or a year from now. If a Bronze was here, perhaps that indicated that Katrana Prestor's days were numbered…

But why did she tell Katrana to "think like a boy" when that had gone nowhere? Why did she save Leonardo Withering? Had she been advising Katrana on how to be more human?

Was the Bronze _protecting_ her? Or was she leading Onyxia into a trap?

Thunder rolled above the small procession. Another downpour threatened, but held itself in check until just after they entered SI:7 headquarters in Old Town, where it beat upon the cobblestones as if having waited for them to seek shelter. The door shut behind them, the floorboards creaked with the cold underneath Katrana's feet. In spite of the early hour, low murmurs sounded about the building, whispering along corridors and weaving themselves through the banister of the staircase ahead of them. A room opened, and out trotted a bleary-eyed Samantha Inkweaver. Shaw leaned against the door frame behind her.

"Where's the little one?" said Fordragon.

"One of the rogues are taking care of her," Samantha rubbed an eye. "What's going on? They won't tell me what's happening."

"Just a little problem, miss."

Samantha did not look convinced, but didn't argue. At that moment, Maeqa appeared with another pair of rogues, face creased with worry. Shaw gestured to Katrana. "You next, my Lady," he said. "I'll personally oversee this."

SI:7 were far more meticulous than even the most paranoid dragons, Katrana found out, to her discernment, and must have asked her about every tiny detail of her day three or four times. They vexed her greatly, but Katrana knew that was the point — to annoy the guilty enough into blurting out something incriminating.

She was not guilty. Humans, however, always felt guilty, always worried about being found guilty even while innocent. And yet she felt concerned that somehow they would see through her, see Romathis written all over this, see the connections between Anduin's disappearance and the Black Dragonflight.

And they did ask her about it, peppering her with questions. She was the resident expert on dragons, after all, and her specialty was the Obsidians.

They asked her her professional opinion more than once. "My professional opinion?" she'd said the last time, eyebrows raising. "I can no more tell you the motivations of the Black Dragonflight than a human expert on gnomes could tell you what a gnome wants out of life. Dragons are as individual as we are. Perhaps some do have a grudge against Stormwind, and others don't. Perhaps some want humans wiped off the face of the earth as humans want them dead. Perhaps they could not care less. How can I, one human, speak for an entire Flight?"

They stopped asking after that.

"A curfew will have to be imposed," said Shaw, when the barrage of questions was done.

"What will that do?" murmured Katrana. "Nothing, most likely. Kidnappers are just as capable of meeting in broad daylight."

"But in broad daylight, there will be witnesses."

"Really?" said Katrana. "You notice every single person you walk past on the street because you are an assassin — you are supposed to. You learn to. But civillians do not. They may have in fact seen Anduin, and multiple times, but never recalled him because he failed to stand out."

"But neighbours will notice neighbours acting differently," said Shaw. "No, a curfew must be imposed. We must be paranoid. They will be just as paranoid in turn." He nodded to Katrana. "In the name of that paranoia I must assign bodyguards to both of you. Four at a time, they will be rotated."

_Bodyguards?_ These "bodyguards" were spies, Katrana knew that. But she did not begrudge the man — it would be too suspicious to complain.

She did not doubt there'd be an additional pair of stealthed rogues watching, too.

"You should sleep," said Fordragon, looking to Katrana.

Dragons did not need sleep nightly, but with people watching, she had to pretend. Instead of arguing, she nodded, and allowed Shaw to lead her to those who would be shadowing her under the name of "protection."

In the night, she could feel Romathis closing his fist over Stormwind. Over the boy. Over her.

If he removed her from power, he had the entire Black Dragonflight at his command. And kept prisoner inside her own room, with rogues pacing her floor, she could do nothing as her paranoia felt him pull the Dragonflight from underneath her.


	12. A Not So Stupid Little Boy

_**A/N:** Whoops, long update. And this is short. Sorry about that. I've managed to get the plan of the rest of part one constructed, and all I have to do is fill in some gaps, and then it's just a run to the end of that! This fic is getting bigger than I thought it would be. Hope you guys like long fics!_

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

All night long, she yearned to retrieve Romathis's letter from inside her cloak in her living room, but instead she was forced to rest, a rogue standing vigilant at her window. Sleep came easily enough, however, and once the sun had a head start on the horizon she fought the urge to rip off the head of the mortal who hammered on her bedroom door.

Hissing, she pulled on her bathrobe and opened the door a crack to find rogues still standing rigid by the windows and doors beyond, and a guard staring at her worriedly. He stuttered as he spoke, cheeks flaming red. "Lady Prestor? You are required in Highlord Fordragon's study immediately."

She recognised the guard's scent — this particular one was a new recruit, and he was up and about? The lockdown had been lifted, then. Curious. The guard shrank away from her as she glared at him. "Why?"

"It is an emergency, I believe," stammered the guard. "That is all I was notified of."

Shutting the door, she tore clothes from her wardrobe and ducked behind her screen to change. The rogue who'd kept watch by her window could barely keep up with her as she strode down the cold halls of Stormwind Keep to Fordragon's study, her cloak around her shoulders just in case, the letter crinkling reassuringly within a pocket.

Fordragon was not alone.

The question as to Anduin's status died immediately in Katrana's throat as she took in his visitors. Mathias Shaw knelt on the ground in front of a small night elf boy who wrung his hands, eyes brimming with tears. A druid scowled at the rogue as he hovered by a wall.

"You've done _very_ well, Myth," said Shaw, his tone seeming to spell out every single word as if speaking to a complete and utter idiot. "Thanks to you, the boy will be safe and we can recover him."

Katrana glanced to Fordragon. He was grinning.

For once, Katrana was not annoyed to see it.

Behind the elven boy, scowling, stood the night elf that must be his father — Katrana recognised him immediately. "Kair Emberfleet, I believe?" she said. "I recall seeing you in the library multiple times."

"Lady Prestor," the night elf bowed. "Indeed you have. This is my son, Myth." He gave the rogue an icy look. "Who is likely older than everyone else in this room," he added meaningfully.

"Of course," said Shaw as he stood up, but his tone still held traces of baby voice. "But I want to make him as comfortable as possible and want to avoid scaring him."

The disgusted-looking Myth rolled his eyes. Kair merely sighed. "He will see, little one," said the elf. "Do not fear."

Fordragon grinned at Katrana, his radiant expression drawing all attention from Shaw's faint scowl. "We have a lead."

Shaw knelt by Myth again, at the boy's eye level. Myth took a step back. "Myth. Please tell us again what you and your father have told us, for Lady Prestor."

Myth gave him another withering look, until Kair placed a hand on his shoulder. "Alright," Myth mumbled. Then he lifted his chin and spoke, his tone intelligent, his eyes holding maturity — if it were not for his high-pitched tone of voice, Katrana would have believed it was the voice of an adult. (Unlike Shaw, who plainly disagreed.) "Yesterday I met a boy in the park. His name was Andrew, they said you were looking for him — blonde hair, knew sword fighting, very polite…"

Bolvar bobbed his head in eager agreement.

"My father and I invited him to dinner because he said he had nowhere to stay," said Myth. "So we allowed him to sleep in my room. In the morning, several rogues knocked at the door looking for a thief, they said, by his description, but when Andrew heard he ran away through a window." His ears drooped with all the misery of a drenched cat.

"Stormwind Intelligence are crawling all over the Park and canals as we speak," said Mathias Shaw. Then added, looking at Myth, "Well, not _really_ crawling, that would be funny, wouldn't it?"

Myth glared at him. "Yes," he said flatly. "It would be _hilarious_."

"He will be found safe." For a rogue, Shaw seemed to be utterly and completely dense when it came to children. "Mark my words. He'll be back in a matter of hours."

So, the dragons hadn't found him.

Thank the _Titans_.

Immediatey, she felt shame. How could she have doubted her brother?

_Do not forget his agent. He's always wanted more power, has he not?_

The voice — her thoughts — made her frown. It could not hurt to remain vigilant.

She brushed away the morbid thought, looking to Myth. Unlike Shaw, she spoke to the boy as she did everyone else. "This may not be the Andrew we seek. For all we know it could be a petty criminal and you are merely seeking rewards that do not belong to you. Can you tell us what he was wearing, young elf?"

"White and blue silk shirt," the night elf mumbled shyly, keeping his eyes averted. Shaw narrowed his eyes at Katrana. "Brown pants. Had a wool hat. Says he knew sword fighting. He saved me from… " the boy hesitated. "... some bees." He mumbled to himself.

"That's him alright," Bolvar's grin only widened.

"He's not a thief though," Myth said, voice rising. "He didn't have anything on him, I saw! Not even money. He said he wanted to stow away on a ship and find his father."

"I'm sure," said Katrana in a disbelieving tone the boy easily picked up on. "However thieves will say anything if it gets them out of trouble."

"He said he knew of you," said Myth accusingly. "How would a thief know you? For all we know, he's really the prince, huh?" He looked to Shaw.

The boy was _good_. And just like Myth had probably bargained for, Shaw froze in silent horror.

"I very much doubt that," Kair remarked lightly. Fordragon continued to look casual.

"He was dressed like a noble, you know! And he knew how to swordfight, just like a prince! And he was very brave, too." He nodded at Shaw.

"I'm not so sure of that, young one," said Kair. Bolvar made a soft noise in his throat, seeming to fight a smile — Katrana noted that he had caught the quite amusing look on Shaw's face.

Shaw had only just recovered himself when Myth smirked knowingly and remarked, "You are right, of course. King Varian is _hardly_ missing."

Dead silence.

Shaw looked _far_ more amusing now. Katrana covered her mouth with a hand, but a small sound in her throat not unlike the one Bolvar had made only a few seconds before escaped. Bolvar glowered at the stunned Shaw, and then shot the same look at Katrana. A cruel urge rose within her, one she obeyed as always without thinking. "Do not fear, young one. Master Shaw is not accustomed to children who possess more brain cells than he does, though I assure you that is not much of a feat."

Fordragon's eyes narrowed, and Katrana realised, too late, that she had implied the child was correct in her haste to put the rogue in his place. She smothered a hiss and opened her mouth, but the rogue spoke first.

"What an _imagination_ you have," said Shaw, his condescending tone returning, laced with venom as he glanced at Katrana.

"King Varian _is_ safe, is he not?" said Kair casually, but his brows seemed to hold a faint wrinkle.

"Of _course_, of course," said Shaw.

Neither night elf looked as if the rogue was believed. Myth looked smug, but Kair's frown only deepened.

"I assume my presence is no longer necessary?" said Katrana. She gestured to Fordragon. "A word, perhaps?"

Fordragon followed her outside, making sure to close his study door before he murmured to her, "That comment was unnecessary. And unprofessional."

"Highlord," Katrana purred. "You were as entertained by the look on his face as I was."

The corner of Fordragon's mouth twitched as if he was restraining a smile, and Katrana could feel amusement hovering within him, amusement that bled into her as she recalled the sheer look of bewilderment on the rogue's face. An involuntary sound escaped her throat as she looked to Fordragon. "He seems to think children are utter fools."

Fordragon's smile faded as he stared at her. "Um," he said. "Yes, he does…"

Only then did Katrana realise she had mirrored his expression and scowled quickly, cursing herself for losing that blip of control. "I wanted to say," she said quickly, reassured of her cold expression by Fordragon's frown. "I believe the boy may have gone to the Trade District." She deepened her scowl. "The Emberfleets must either be taken into the search or barred from leaving, for if they give the knowledge away, or even make rumours, it may yet draw the carpet from underneath our feet. Myth is an intelligent young boy, and Shaw's failure will not convince him otherwise of the conclusions he has drawn."

"We'll have them sign something."

"That will not prevent anything."

"Do you have a better solution?" Fordragon sighed.

"Anduin knows them," said Katrana. "He will return to them by sunset — he will be cold and hungry, and he may have made friends with the night elf boy. In addition, we can allow Jettion to accompany Myth, as bait."

"At least we can breathe now," Fordragon murmured. "I'm glad he's alright. He should be back by then, the guards will find him."

"And yet, they have not yet done so."

"That boy knows how to hide, it seems," Fordragon sighed. "I'm glad he was warm and fed last night. The weather was terrible." He looked to Katrana thoughtfully. "Curious he apparently mentioned you to Myth, however."

"I doubt he said anything kind," Katrana smirked.

Fordragon's eyes twinkled. "Perhaps that you have a nice laugh."

"I do not _laugh_." Hot annoyance streaked through Katrana.

Fordragon smirked. "Well, it was a chuckle, if you want to be pedantic."

"I do not chuckle either."

"Keep telling yourself that," said Fordragon, and then Katrana recalled the sound she'd made moments before, when she'd been smiling — _fel damn it!_ It was the humans. She'd been around humans _far too long_. "But you should laugh more. It relieves stress, and if there is anybody in this Keep who's stressed beyond belief, it would be you."

"I am not stressed, and I am insulted that you would think that way."

"And yet, I've yet to ever see you act relaxed," said Fordragon. "And if you're not relaxed, that means you're stressed."

Humans did not understand the concept of not smiling, and it was the one cultural difference Katrana was unwilling to adopt. Dragons saw smiling and genuine mirth as showing contentment and happiness, a sign of complacency that practically begged Fate to strip your arrogance from you in the most humiliating manner possible. Humans called it "jinxing". More than once Katrana had heard something along the lines of, "Oh, I'll win this no trouble — touch wood!"

Of course, dragons were too intelligent to believe in such superstition and simply avoided displaying complacency to begin with. The only dragons that could afford to smile were ones that had no fear — such as Deathwing, whilst he had been in the guise of Daval Prestor.

Open mouthed grinning was something different altogether. Baring teeth, in the dragon world, was a threat. If a dragon grinned at you, even in mirth — _especially_ in mirth — it meant you were in deep, deep trouble.

She'd have to smile to fit into human culture, but if the Suicide Squad witnessed it, she'd be undermined faster than a goblin could grab a fallen coin. She had to appear strong in front of them. Unlike Romathis, unlike Deathwing, she would never be complacent, never take her underlings for granted.

"I should help Mathias dig himself out of that hole," said Fordragon thoughtfully. "Oh — why did you want to check the Trade District?"

"He'll want to eat sooner or later," said Katrana. "And it is safe to assume he has slipped between the cracks of the guards."

"Myth said he had no money."

"He may have some hidden on his person," said Katrana, "and if he has, that will be the first place he travels to."

-o-O-o-

From the deep pockets of her cloak as she strode into the open air of Stormwind, Katrana snatched Romathis's letter. The soothing smell of burning and magma drifted from the Dwarven District as she allowed herself to slow down, breaking the thankfully-intact seal. So, no rogues had been rifling through her pockets whilst she had been asleep.

Within lay a single sheet of paper, and Romathis's curled calligraphy.

_My dearest sister,_

_Yes, I had someone keep an eye on you. Is that such a bad thing? You've done so little within Stormwind and produced few results as of late I simply had to investigate for myself. If that someone happened to attempt to take a thorn out of my side in the process… well, isn't it unfortunate a dragonspawn, of all creatures, had more initiative than you?_

"Dragonspawn?" Katrana muttered under her breath. "More initiative? That wasn't a dragonspawn, that was a _Scalebane_, you slime, and you know it! They're _trained_ to take initiative!"

_You've done little since the Queen's death. Sure, the Defias are out and about and you did conveniently remove a certain man from power, but let us face it — he was incapacitated by grief to begin with and allowed certain people to do as they wished regardless. Do not be so angry with me for taking matters into my own hands when you are barely doing anything. And the fact you did not cover up my minion's little indiscretion and still allowed them to send an expedition within the Steppes — you are losing your touch, dear sister. I do hope you're not allowing the humans' incompetencies to infect you._

"_Allowed_?" She hadn't allowed _anyone_! "I warned you, wretch, and this is what I receive for it?"

Human incompetencies… hackles rising, Katrana remembered her slip of control before — the smile she had made in her complacency.

The hiss she made under her breath was beginning to draw the glances of passer-bys. Pulling her hood more securely over her face, what little good it did, Katrana quickly skimmed the rest of the message. There was not much.

_Sister, do better. I shall be watching._

_R_

She almost crumpled the note up and threw it away, but thought better of it. Romathis had been careful to avoid too much implication if the letter had been read by another — but not enough.

A small, paranoid corner of her mind said, _was that deliberate?_

Silencing it, she stuffed the letter back in her pocket. When she returned, she would add it to her stash of letters. Dragons had little use for evidence, but it would placate her human side to keep it in case of emergency.

For now, she had something more important to do — find Anduin.

-o-O-o-

If Anduin had the urge to swing a cat, he couldn't do so without hitting a guard. The guards fell upon every unsupervised male child, and Anduin had to resort to clinging close to adult strangers — not close enough the strangers became suspicious, or worried about pickpocketing — so that they would not home in on him.

Piggybacking in this manner took him across the bridge, arching over the glittering canal water in the bright daylight, and into the Trade District. He hadn't eaten since the night before. Anduin didn't look forward to enduring this hunger often, but he would make any sacrifice for his father. Perhaps he'd find some coins on the ground to buy food with.

He had to distract himself. He'd heard the guards at the door. Bolvar had betrayed him, told them all he was a thief. He wanted Anduin locked away.

Anduin didn't want to think about it.

Instead, he combed the cobblestones in the Trade District with his eyes for fallen coins, and found no tell-tale glints of even a copper piece. The rain had petered out early that morning and the sun struggled to dry the cobblestones beneath through the busy crowd. The Trade District always thronged with people. Winter was coming, and the harvests had been coming in for weeks.

And for the first time, Anduin worried about this. Would he be okay over the winter? By the time it ended the search would surely be over — but how was he going to spend every day for months on end worrying about where his next meal would come from? His heart fluttered.

As the sun climbed higher into the sky his stomach's growling became more and more urgent. He'd spotted an entire gold coin on the ground, but allowed an urchin who looked even worse-off than he was to grab it. And if that urchin was alright, Anduin would be, too.

He'd have to resort to thievery, he realised, as lunch came and went. He hadn't eaten in eighteen hours, and he couldn't remember how long it would be before he starved. His parched throat ached. He hovered by an apple stall where a dark-haired man who looked slightly familiar haggled with a couple of older women. Anduin dawdled innocently, looking around...

Nobody was watching. His hand darted out and snatched an apple. He'd pay the stall owner back, one day. After he found his father.

"Hey!" came a voice.

Richard Hackett, surrounded by his friends, stood by a nearby tree and glowered at him. Anduin realised why the man had been familiar — Richard must be his son. Before the man could turn around Anduin bolted and vanished into the crowd.

He didn't think they followed him, but when he grew tired he ducked into an alley with his red prize, his aching stomach growling. He doubted this would fill him, but it had to do.

"Hey, thief!"

Oh, _hell_. Before Anduin could scramble to his feet and escape, Richard had gained on him and shoved him against the wall. The uncomfortable brick grazed Anduin's face as Richard's arms came up in front of Anduin's shoulders, keeping Anduin's own arms useless, and pushed down on the back of Anduin's neck with his interlocked hands.

He knew this hold, he thought as Richard pulled him away. He struggled to remember how to drop out of it —

But before he could a fist caught him on the chin, and he caught bloodlust shining in Evie's eyes as she hit him again and again, hot pain exploding underneath the surface of his skin. Numbly, he wondered why his body persisted in telling him he was being hit when he already knew it. He writhed in panic, but the other two children closed in and took their turn.

"Thieving bastard!" crowed Evie.

Anduin stopped struggling. Soon after, they grew bored. Pain erupted on the side of his head as Richard threw him to the ground, scowling. Anduin blinked up at him — one of his eyes hurt. He'd worried it would explode everywhere when Flynn's fist had connected with it.

For all Richard resembled the man at the stall, Anduin thought dazedly, he looked more like a smaller, male version of Lady Prestor.

Pain throbbed through him and dragged him away from his dissociated thoughts.

"Hey!" Anduin recognised Myth's voice. "Take _this_!"

"What the hell is that?" shrieked Evie.

A small roar caught Anduin's attention, and one of the children cried out. "The thing scratched me, the little shit!"

"Myth, I hate you so — _ow!_"

"It's gonna bite, it's gonna bite, it's gonna bite!"

The other children scattered. Anduin sat up, head and body aching all over, and saw the silhouette of Myth in the alleyway.

Myth was not alone.

"Jettion?" he murmured.

"He sniffed for you!" said Myth happily, smiling down at Anduin. He seemed unphased by Anduin's injuries, and with a pang Anduin realised Myth must have collected several bruises of his own over the years. He held out a hand and helped Anduin up as best as the small boy could. "I ran away from An'da to find you — the palace is looking for you." He frowned. "I told. I'm sorry. They thought — they were saying you're a thief. If they said otherwise you'd get kidnapped or something. Please go back."

"I forgive you," said Anduin tiredly, leaning against the wall. Jettion crooned and nuzzled his ankle. "I can't go back. I have to find Father."

"So the King _is_ gone, then?"

Anduin froze.

Myth smiled weakly. "They tried to deny it," said Myth, "but they gave in and told us. I think the Highlord's mad at the rogue man. We're not allowed to tell, though, your secret's safe with us."

"I need to go to Theramore immediately," said Anduin. "Before the guards find me."

His stomach growled — the apple was bruised on the ground, but Anduin wiped it on his shirt and crunched into it. Never had fruit tasted so good, and Anduin devoured it.

"I _have_ to find my father," he said to Myth's protests. "How could you live without Kair?"

The night elf fell quiet. Then he said, "The harbour's being watched."

Anduin sighed. "I thought as much."

"And the front gates," said the night elf. "They said if they don't find you soon they're going to lock down the districts, too. What does that mean?"

"It means no one goes in or out of them," said Anduin, biting off as much of the meat off the apple core as he dared. He sighed, looking around for a bin. When none greeted him he reluctantly dropped the apple core — at least it would get eaten by insects. "I shouldn't steal," he said reluctantly. "But I'm so hungry."

"You should come home to eat."

"I cannot implicate your father any more than I already have," said Anduin. He expected Myth to look puzzled by the word, before he remembered Myth was older than Lady Prestor was. Myth wasn't stupid — he was much older than he looked. "I'll take responsibility for myself." He peered around the alley's mouth into the bright daylight. "Those children are probably still near the stall, perhaps — Jet? Where are you going?"

Jettion had seemed to grow bored and lumbered out of the alleyway, before taking flight.

"He's run away," said Myth mournfully.

Anduin shook his head, feeling the trickle of blood by his jaw. "He does his own thing," he said. "Often goes hunting by himself. Can you distract the four while I get another apple?"

It'd be the last time today he stole, he promised himself. He was bound to find some change on the ground later. He would search harder and make a good stash. Maybe he'd even have enough to pay the man back.

But Myth shook his head. "I'll get it," he said. "If you get caught they'll take you back to the palace, and I'm small."

_But you stick out,_ Anduin wanted to say. But Myth _was_ small, and otherwise unnoticeable. It was something about his soft-spokenness that his father had passed down to him that made Myth blend into the background despite his physical differences. "Alright," he sighed quietly. The other boy was so desperate to help him, he could see by the eager expression on his face. "But _please_ be careful."

"I will!" said Myth eagerly.

-o-O-o-

"Whoa," said Richard as Anduin approached. His father was ten yards away, and Anduin had quickly realised his fate was at the other boy's mercy but as he'd suspected, Richard and the other children were more interested in examining his handiwork. "Nice bruise."

Anduin felt one throb on his cheek. Or did he mean the black bruise that surely swelled his eye? It hurt to blink. "Thanks!" he said cheerfully. "Don't I look amazing?"

Richard glared at him. "You _stole_. From my father! I should get him to call the guard, shouldn't I?"

"But that way you won't get to punch me again, don't you think?"

"Freak," Richard muttered, but seemed to consider this. Then he said, "Nah, that's what Myth is for. I call the guard, I get to punch Myth. Sounds like a good deal to me."

"What?" said Anduin. "No! You treat him terribly — "

"He's a tree rat, it's what he deserves," Evie shrugged.

"He's not _human_," said Flynn.

Richard seemed to be basking in the power he held over Anduin, and so against his pride, Anduin played along. "Don't do that!" he begged. "Please, Myth never did anything wrong — "

"He's such a _freak_," said Richard. "He'd rather sit by the moonwell with that stupid dog of his reading a book than come and play. And he grows up so slowly! He's such a baby."

_That__ is your best insult?_ Thought Anduin. "But - "

"_Oi!_" called out a voice.

Anduin's heart plummeted. Richard turned around.

The senior Hackett held Myth's wrist in an iron grip. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?"


	13. Pressed Flowers

**_A/N:_**_ Once again, thank you for the lovely reviews! Here, have a nice big chapter in thanks, since I finished it early. It'll be back to normal updates after this._

_If you've been lurking so far, feel free to pop in and say hello!_

**_WARNING:_**_ Chapter contains rape. It's not explicit, but - does it warrant a rating bump, do you think?_

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

The children all whipped around to watch. "Oh, that little shit!" Richard hissed under his breath.

Like a paralysed rabbit, Myth stared up at Mister Hackett with wide eyes.

Heads turned, and more than one was armoured. A handful of guards homed in. One pulled off her helmet, stashing it underneath her arm. "Is there a problem, sir?" she said. "Trouble with a thief?" Her disapproving eyes caught Myth.

All thoughts of discovery forgotten, Anduin pushed through the crowd, the children on his tail. "Please don't!"

Mister Hackett's eyes swivelled to his, and the guard's eyes narrowed further.

"I put him up to it!" said Anduin. "Please let him go, take me instead, I stole one earlier — he didn't want me to get caught."

One of the other guards leant closer to the female. "That's the kid they're all looking for," he said. "Matches his description. That Andrew kid."

"Hey, he is," the female scowled. "Get over here, now, boy."

"Let Myth go," said Anduin. "Please. I'll come if you let him go. He didn't steal anything."

"Fel," said Mister Hackett, his anger draining. "This boy can't be older than, what, seven?" He relinquished his grip. "Boy, don't steal, that's the start of a bad road…"

"He won't do it again," said Anduin. "It's my fault, please, sir, I'm sorry."

Myth's eyes shone with tears.

Capturing the attention of all the onlookers with a flutter of wings, Jettion collapsed on a pile of apples, sending a few rolling to the ground. "Just _what_ is going on here?" called a familiar voice.

"Oh, _hell_," muttered Anduin.

Lady Prestor stepped onto the scene, the hood of her cloak pulled back to reveal black hair which shone in places in the bright daylight, her regal chin lifted high.

Mister Hackett's jaw dropped.

Lady Prestor's narrowed, cold eyes found Anduin. "_You_. How dare you waste the resources of Stormwind Keep…?"

"Katrina?" Mister Hackett spluttered.

Lady Prestor hissed. "_Katrana_. Katrana Prestor. To _you_, it's Lady Prestor."

"Bloody _hell_!" said Mister Hackett.

Apparently a noble deigning to show themselves in the Trade District wasn't very common.

"What did the night elf boy do?" Katrana Prestor said, eyes searching out Myth. The ferocity of her glare was enough to prompt the boy to dissolve into tears on the spot.

"I'm sorry, Myth," said Anduin unhappily. He looked to Lady Prestor. "I made him steal. It was my fault."

Lady Prestor looked disgusted. She turned her gaze on the apple-seller. "Your name?"

"Um. Carlos Hackett."

"Come with us, then, and we'll settle compensation as I bring the children to their parents," she said. "A guard will mind your stall, plainly they are more competent than you are when it comes to dissuading thieves."

Carlos's nervous laughter sputtered and died underneath her glare.

-o-O-o-

"Anduin!" called out Bolvar in glee. "You're alright — where the hell did you get that black eye?"

A small procession followed Lady Prestor and her young charges, but Bolvar only had eyes for Anduin. The young King of Stormwind's steps were hesitant. He was covered head to toe in bruises, with dried blood matting golden hair and slight winces as he moved. "What _happened_?" said Bolvar.

"He stole from Carlos Hackett," said Lady Prestor's oh-so-superior drawl. She held Jettion in her arms, and the whelp was curled up in comfort as if he'd never known another home. "And bullied the night elf child into thievery."

"Ka — Lady Prestor, he's _hurt_!"

"He's fine," said Lady Prestor. She sniffed. "It's going to be around Stormwind by morning that we're raising a little thief."

"He's a future politician," said a stranger in a plaid shirt behind her, a weak smile on his face. "Of course he's a bloody thief."

Buoyed on the joy of having Anduin back and the relief of a major crisis averted, Bolvar was the only one who laughed. Lady Prestor's glare deepened.

"Myth," said Kair, in that soft-spoken way of his. Despite that, Myth shrank upon hearing his father's voice. "Please, tell me you did not steal."

"I will not tell lies," Myth mumbled.

Kair frowned. "I am deeply disappointed in you." He looked up at Carlos. "Please allow me to compensate you for my son's crime."

Carlos shook his head. "He didn't steal anything," he looked back to Lady Prestor.

It was as if the apple-seller was enraptured by her presence. There was something bright in his eyes as he gazed at her, looking her all over, pausing as if he hardly dared to breathe. It wasn't the first time Katrana Prestor had captured a man's attention in that way, and Bolvar shoved aside his annoyance, returning his gaze to Anduin's. "Who hurt you?"

Myth burst into tears. "It's all my fault!"

Bolvar's eyes flicked between the children — Anduin, whose mouth was firmly shut; Hackett Jr, who looked as if he was willing the ground to swallow him up; Myth, who sobbed as Kair kneeled beside him. "What happened?" said Bolvar dangerously, earning a glare from Kair. But when he slid his eyes to the nameless boy, Kair's ears perked in understanding.

"He saved me," Myth stammered through tears. "They didn't like that so they ganged up on him!"

"I don't — " Carlos started, but as soon as he caught the look on his son's face, his tone changed. "Richard. _You didn't._"

Richard said nothing, staring at the tiles.

Kair gave a low hiss. Anduin said quietly, "They hurt him a lot. Because he's an elf."

"They joined forces to beat one boy?" Bolvar had forgotten Katrana Prestor's presence, until he heard her usual dismissive tone. "Somehow, I am not surprised."

Jettion hissed as if in agreement.

He heard the clack of her staff against the tiles as Katrana Prestor stepped closer to Richard Hackett, whose eyes widened in fear as he shrunk away from her. Carlos Hackett stood aside. Anger blazed in her eyes, and Bolvar could not help but feel a victorious smirk on his face. "You not only assaulted the Prince of Stormwind, but you had your friends help you," said Katrana. "And in addition to that, you physically bully a child half your size because of his different birth?" She narrowed her eyes. The boy said nothing in response, the silence only appearing to deepen his regret and shame as it wore on before Katrana continued. "You are a _repulsive excuse for a boy_."

"They held his hands behind his back!" wailed Myth.

The look of death Katrana turned on Carlos dropped the room's temperature by several degrees. "And you _raised_ this coward?"

Kair smirked in victory, Myth sniffled, and Anduin watched with a faint smile. The only witnesses impassive to the events that unfolded in front of them were the Suicide Squad, their eyes sparkling in bare interest. Bolvar gestured to the nearest one, who stepped away from the wall in silent obedience. "Davies, take Anduin to the infirmary."

But Katrana Prestor wasn't done. "You," she said to Carlos. "Give me the names and addresses of the parents of the other children, so I may warn them of the ramifications of what will occur if their children dare hurt the Prince of Stormwind again."

"Sure," said Carlos weakly. "Can I warn them first?"

"You are not being appropriate, Mister Hackett," said Bolvar, standing.

Anduin broke away from Zach Davies. "It's still not fair," he said. "I stole from him, and no matter what Richard and the others did — I still stole and he deserves to be compensated." He looked to Carlos, who blinked at him in surprise. "Please — maybe I could help at your stall for a day?" said Anduin. "To make up for it?"

Bolvar sighed. "Anduin, how much did you _take_?"

"One."

"That's hardly worth a day of work."

"Because of what Richard did," said Carlos, addressing the prince as if he were an adult. "I'm going to drop it. Please, Your Highness — Myth, and your father — accept my most sincere apologies for what happened and know it will _not_ happen again."

"I committed a crime," Anduin pressed. "I _must_ make things right. Please, sir, allow me to."

It was good to see the old Anduin. In the last few months, he'd grown so sullen. Bolvar gave a small smile.

Lady Prestor snorted lightly. "A little work never killed anyone," she said. "Perhaps tomorrow, get it out of the way. Now, about those addresses..."

A dog with a bone, she was, and it was all Bolvar could do not to grin again as Carlos reluctantly opened up to her. A good talking to from Lady Prestor would ensure those children never so much as scowled at another child again.

"Anduin," said Bolvar. "You go with Davies to the infirmary."

Anduin nodded, the fire in his eyes dying out. He sighed.

Bolvar pulled him into a tight embrace. The boy was frail in his arms, weakly returning the hug. "I am truly sorry, Anduin, but your father is not coming back." He pulled back, holding Anduin's sad eyes. "I would not have called off the search unless I truly believed that. We have had absolutely nothing to go on in months..."

"He's not dead," mumbled Anduin, but his words lacked conviction. His eyes shone with tears, and he bowed his head. Davies stood statue-still nearby.

"We will speak later," said Bolvar. "Give me a moment to remind Lady Prestor not to kill anyone, then I'll be with you. And Davies — make sure to take him to the kitchens after and give him something to eat."

That earned a weak smile from Anduin.

-o-O-o-

After he'd been patched up and fed, Anduin had the distinct feeling he would find the night elves in the library.

He was not disappointed.

"He's behind that shelf over there," Myth mumbled. "He cannot resist good books whenever we are on this side of the city. Mister Tovald always lets him in."

"Mister Emberfleet," said Anduin, when he found the older night elf. Kair looked up from the book he held in his hands, several more crammed into a bag at his hip. "I am really sorry, for taking advantage of your hospitality and for getting Myth into trouble. I'm really sorry."

"I can see that," Kair said in a low murmur, silver eyes taking Anduin in. The night elf frowned deeply. "In any case, good has come of this," Kair said without addressing his apology. "I have been speaking to Mister Tovald and Mister Sheaf, and they have offered me a place of employment." Finally, he smiled. "I was once a druid, then became an instructor, and, now… the calling of druidism has waned somewhat for me." His silver eyes found the window. Green fields stretched beyond, and a small lake that glittered there. Further still, Anduin knew it dropped into a cliff and into the harbour. "Nature has never resonated with me as much as books do," Kair said thoughtfully. "I have always been an oddity among my kind for that reason. Some have been particularly unkind about that, comparing me to Highborne for that..." He trailed off, then said dreamily, "What was I speaking of again?"

"Congratulations!" said Anduin, brightening. "But it's a long way from the park, isn't it?"

"We shall find a place of residence much closer," said Kair. "Transporting all our books will be difficult, but I needed to go through my collection anyway."

"The gardens are really big," said Anduin enthusiastically. "Lots of space for me and Myth to play! There's other noble children as well, but they usually keep to themselves. They won't trouble Myth. I won't let them."

"Thank you for defending him, young one," Kair sighed. "Carlos Hackett is not a bad man, however tactless and oblivious to his son's deeds he is, and seems to genuinely regret the hassle his spawn has caused. I have never met him before today, but I am assured he knows the other parents and will speak to them as well." He tilted his head. "In any case, I am grateful for the opportunity to keep Myth away from those children."

"I'm sorry," said Myth.

"Do not blame yourself for the crimes of others, my dear son," said Kair.

"Some of my people can be cruel," said Anduin.

"And mine," said Kair, his eyes meeting Anduin's again. "We are all born selfish, and cruelty is only a step away. To be kind is to be stronger."

He shook his head, and abruptly changed tacks. "The walk to the other side of the city is too long to make today, so I will arrange to stay in the Dwarven District."

"Eww," said Myth.

Kair's frown only deepened. "And there is the stall tomorrow. For all Carlos seems to have his heart in the right place, the assistance of you both is far more than he deserves. You are still going, Anduin?"

"Yes," said Anduin. "I stole from him, he deserves to be repaid. And I mean to." He straightened himself up. "My father taught me to do the right thing, and to do my best while I do it. To go the extra mile. And that's what I intend to do."

Kair smiled. "You are a good boy," he said.

"Maybe I can order Lady Prestor to accompany you both," said a voice. Anduin turned around to see Bolvar walk in with a smile, a bow slung over his shoulder. "That temper is amazing to watch — it's just a matter of making sure the right people are in front of her when she's in a foul mood." He winked. "May as well make the best of it, no? If she personally reprimanded enough criminals, crime would drop, I assure you."

"Highlord," Kair sank into a bow. Myth quickly did the same as Bolvar approached them, grinning. Anduin could never remember seeing him so happy, and since he'd returned his godfather seemed to have been walking on air.

"We have a certain understanding," said Bolvar. He smiled. "Kair, with your permission — I was going to take Anduin to the training grounds to introduce him to archery." He looked to Myth. "May I invite Myth as well?"

Myth ballooned in joy. "Please, please, please, please, please, An'da!"

Myth was unlikely to have the right physical strength. Pulling a bowstring took more strength than it looked, but Anduin would help him. He smiled at the thought.

"Enjoy yourselves," said Kair with another bow. "Thank you for your kindness, Highlord."

"Yes!" trilled Myth. "Thank you, Mister Highlord!"

"My mother enjoyed archery," Bolvar remarked off-handedly as he left the library with Anduin and Myth in tow. "She was a potter, of course, but when one came out particularly badly, in her opinion, she'd put it on the garden wall and shoot it. It drove my father insane." His chuckle sounded sad. Anduin remembered learning from his father at a young age that Bolvar's parents died in the Orcish attack on Stormwind, so long ago, and that the family had been tight-knit. "He wanted to cherish every single one of her creations."

"Do you wish you were a potter instead of a Highlord?" said Anduin.

"Good heavens," said Bolvar, smirking down at him. "I'm far too old to learn how."

"No, you're not."

"Anduin, I make much more of a difference as a Highlord than I would as a potter." Bolvar smiled sadly. "That's how things are. I wouldn't swap anything for the chance to make a difference. Now, let's go, your bow missed you, I don't doubt."

-o-O-o-

Bolvar thought that chewing out negligent parents would use up Katrana Prestor's daily anger quota, but he'd forgotten that her temper was bottomless. That night she stormed into Bolvar's study with fire in her eyes.

"I shall have a word with the dwarves that run the printing press," Katrana snarled. "I was called Katrina no less than _three_ times today! Are the newspapers so incompetent they cannot get a simple name right?"

"I wouldn't worry about it," said Bolvar, smirking. "When I became Regent Lord, they reported my name as _Bolvad_ for three weeks before they corrected it."

"That's even worse a name than _Bolvar_!"

It would not do for the night to get off to a bad start and to allow her to get to him, so Bolvar grinned, and to his malicious glee that only seemed to irritate Katrana further.

He'd felt too vengeful today — directed at the Hacketts, at the children who'd hurt Anduin and Myth so badly, and now Katrana. It was not a good habit to get into, but… poor Myth. It had come out that those children had been picking on him for _years_. Kair had been infuriated, and it was only thanks to Myth's begging that Kair allowed his son to volunteer to help Anduin at the stall tomorrow.

Bolvar didn't want Anduin to go either. But Anduin was growing up, and Bolvar shouldn't stamp out the spark of righteousness and responsibility within Anduin. Anduin had been right. No matter what Carlos's child had done to him, it had still been wrong to steal, and one bad deed did not cancel out another.

But still — an entire day? That was too much, surely. It had only been Anduin's enthusiasm, and the knowledge that the prince bloody well would run away again if he wanted to, that had Bolvar concede. Anduin was like him, he needed a taste of freedom every once in a while.

Besides, he'd handled it with more maturity than Bolvar would have. And for that, Bolvar felt nothing but blazing pride.

"Those children could not care less that they had hurt someone until they were caught," Katrana sneered. "But you should have seen the looks on their faces when they realised _whom_ they had hurt…"

For once, Bolvar was unable to resist the opportunity to give Lady Prestor a taste of her own medicine. "I would never have placed you as the kind to protect children from bullying," said Bolvar. "You've always seemed the kind of person to tell them to deal with it."

Lady Prestor blinked at him. Either she was surprised he'd been acidic to her, or… "And you seemed to think the same of yourself?"

Yet again, she walked into the little trap he'd set. "People older than Anduin have died from being beaten. He could have sustained internal injuries, and if the heir died..."

"I don't buy it," he said, but his tone was hesitant. That woman could be cruel. Primal. She obeyed nature's laws, not the moral ethics of man.

"It is pathetic that the night elven boy could not take care of himself without Anduin's intervention," said Katrana. Bolvar scowled. "Their retribution will test him, in any case."

"You are too proud for your own good. Come off it, you don't think they'll try to get back at him." And besides, she'd come down on them like a tonne of bricks again, and a visit from Scary Lady Prestor was the last thing those children wanted — forget the bogeyman under their bed!

"My pride has nothing to do with this," Katrana said flatly. "Are we going to play or not?"

Katrana was an odd one. Normally, she was her venomous self, but lately she'd been… different. She'd brought Bolvar food, protected Anduin, had her occasional weak moment — and it was almost as if she knew exactly how weak those moments were. She always hesitated before they came, before she spoke words that weren't dripping with acid, before she made a reluctant compliment or did something others thought as right. And if they slipped by without her permission — as Bolvar had just seen — she was quick to defend them with her usual cruel "logic" or pretend they'd never happened — like that little chuckle of hers…

He'd give anything to hear another chuckle like that.

It was irritating, seeing her swing back and forth, but… it was a reluctant attempt to change her behaviour. Bolvar could see that much. Somewhere inside, she must feel regret for her cold demeanour and sought to make things different, but she was proud. Katrana Prestor was _nothing_ if she was not proud, and it was pride, obvious as the sun in the sky, that prevented her from changing too quickly.

Sometimes it felt like there were two of her. A gentler Prestor inside, with a witch of a woman keeping her in check for the sake of appearances.

And one day, Bolvar would discover how right he was.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing to the small table he'd set up. "I'll get out the chess set and explain the rules."

-o-O-o-

"Have you played before?" said Bolvar.

Katrana stared at the checkered board. "No."

A box rattled as Bolvar slid it onto the table and turned it on its side, allowing pieces to spill out. Katrana barely caught a small, knobbed piece before it fell off. "Alright," he said. "I'll show you how to set up the pieces. Do you want black or white? White goes first."

"Why?"

Bolvar shrugged. "Those are the rules."

"Cannot one simply agree for the black player to go first?" said Katrana.

"Nope," Bolvar grinned at her. Even to this day Katrana had to suppress a twinge of anger that rose whenever someone bared their teeth at her, however much in mirth. "That spoils the fun."

Katrana clicked her tongue. "I choose black."

Black was fitting. The colour of her dragonflight. The colour whose first move was reaction, rather than proaction — or so Katrana thought. It became evident enough as Bolvar explained that the first move was hardly a dangerous one and the black player could be as proactive as they liked.

"And the goal is to trap the king in a checkmate," said Bolvar. "You can't take the king, just put him in danger of being taken. Then you win."

The fire crackled behind the grate. To Katrana's delight, Bolvar seemed to like temperatures higher than the average human — to a dragon, the room was still somewhat chilly, but to a human it bordered being stuffy. It could not get better than that in Stormwind.

Bolvar nudged his first pawn forward once the rules were explained and understood. "So what have you been up to today, now everything's back to normal?"

Whatever hope the human had to gain some insight into Katrana Prestor was quickly quashed as Katrana shifted a knight. "I can see into the training grounds from my study. I saw you with Anduin and the night elf child at the archery range." Katrana watched as Bolvar released a bishop. "You received a carrier pigeon. Anything interesting I should know about?"

Bolvar huffed. Katrana's fingers hovered over one of her pawns for a moment, before she chose her knight again instead. "It was a message from Reginald Windsor. They reached the steppes not long ago."

"Oh?"

"They barely got in," said Bolvar, frowning deeply. "They've been attacked by dragonspawn, orcs _and_ Dark Iron Dwarves practically non-stop since they entered the Steppes."

"All at once?"

"Good heavens, no," said Bolvar. "I'd be seriously worried if they had all joined forces. Thankfully, there have only been injuries. No fatalities as of yet."

"Perhaps they should return home."

Bolvar shook his head. "Reginald is convinced they're hiding something, and he's not going to stop until he finds out what it is."

"I doubt it," she said, eyes still fixed on the board. The pieces had begun to break their neat ranks from the beginning. "What was he expecting, a warm welcome? If a Dragonmaw orc ambled into Stormwind, he'd be greeted with an onslaught of arrows to the chest. Are we to suddenly condemn dragons for doing the same?"

Bolvar sighed, shifting his other bishop. "You have a point," he said reluctantly. "But I'm still not happy about it."

"Since the Brotherhood of Cinders had to murder their way through their city to get to the Molten Core, I'm not surprised the Dark Irons have taken offence," said Katrana, sitting back in her chair. Curious, how Bolvar's second bishop had wandered straight into danger from her rook — but then Katrana saw the ploy; if she took the bishop, that left her queen vulnerable, but if she didn't take the bishop... oh, hell, she'd be short one of her own.

Perhaps she should not have allowed her queen out so early. This was an _interesting_ game, for a human past time.

"And look at what the Brotherhood stands to gain if they plunder Blackrock," said Katrana, opting for budging her queen. Which led to a rook being taken. _Blast_, she hadn't seen that one coming, and despite herself she perked up in interest. "Money. Lots of money. Black scales are incredibly valuable on the auction house right now, and the Brotherhood control the supply. Is it worth it?" She tapped her nails on the table as Bolvar shoved his queen into play. "Up until now the black dragons have barely looked at us twice. Then the Brotherhood of Cinders stir up their storm in a teacup, cry out that they're being attacked when they started it... appropriately enough, the Black Dragons, I believe, have a saying for such an occasion. It goes, 'Do not blame the magma if you should dip your tail in.'"

"Hell," said Bolvar. His queen was quickly proving to be a weapon of mass destruction on the board, Katrana realised to her chagrin, one that must be eliminated in the game of war. "Do dragons do peace treaties?"

Katrana snorted. Oh, Romathis would scoff at _that_! Romathis would sooner eat his own claw than consider peace with humans, and every whelp older than five would stage a coup out of humiliation and outrage. "They are beasts, Bolvar. And even if they were not — do you realise how that would look?" said Katrana. "It would be as if we presented an olive branch in one hand whilst holding a musket in the other. Let them do their own thing, and for the love of the Titans, that stupid, warmongering guild needs to stop handing them reasons to kill us all."

"I asked for a game to have a _break_ from politics, Katrana," said Bolvar with a forced smile. "Not indulge in it more."

"As you wish." Katrana finally took his queen and brought out her own back out. Only for it to be taken by a pawn.

How embarrassing.

"You're too much a defensive player," said Bolvar. "You can't win if you're not aggressive."

Katrana ignored him.

He spoke again a few minutes later. "So, what was your father like when he wasn't parading around in front of all the nobles?"

Katrana smirked. "I thought I was the only one who thought as such."

Bolvar chuckled. "So, what was he like?"

Damned stubborn humans…

"I barely saw him," she said airily. "He was a strict man, and when he wanted something, he obtained it. He _always_ got his way."

"It runs in the family, eh?"

"Compromises are when two parties get what neither of them want. If someone is to get their desires, it may as well be us." She moved another pawn.

"I don't remember him being strict," said Bolvar. He hesitated, and then his voice grew softer. "You said he hurt your mother. Did he hurt you?" He paused. "Ah, shi — um. Forgive me, that sounds horribly…"

"Nosy?"

"Yes. But I… you seemed to want to talk about it, the other day. I don't want to pry. I want to help. And I'm here if you do want to talk about it."

"My father punished me if I disobeyed, no more than that," said Katrana. "I had a strong family name to live up to, so my father's standards were higher than most. I was the child, so he decided what I did with my time, not me. Education, mostly." Most of it was human culture — he'd made her observe the servants in the kitchens for _months_ to learn the finer points of human interaction. "Let me be frank, my father may have controlled me like a puppet, but at least he taught me how to disallow someone else doing it to me in the future."

"And what about your mother?" said Bolvar.

A foggy image of Sintharia appeared in Onyxia's mind. She had looked very much like her. "What about her?"

Bolvar didn't answer.

"I am no victim," said Katrana.

"No. You're a survivor. I'm sorry, I've pried enough."

He seemed to take longer than usual to decide on his next move. Companionable silence fell between them, and to Katrana's relief he said no more.

It was to their mutual surprise that she said, "My mother was as stubborn and ambitious as he was. Naturally, they clashed terribly."

His eyes, subtly widened, glanced up at her. Green, she noticed. A brilliant green. "That's one way to put it, I suppose," he said, smiling weakly.

"He fought with her, and she fought back," said Katrana quietly. Oh, and how Sintharia fought back — Sintharia took _nothing_ lying down. Not even when —

When -

Katrana blinked. She stared, but she did not see the board in front of her.

She'd thought she'd never forgotten what happened, the day Neltharion turned into Deathwing and hurt her mother for the first time. But she had — she'd forgotten the stench of burning flesh, the screams that cut Onyxia to the bone, the heat that pressed her on all sides, Sabel's groans of pain…

"Kat?" he said.

She murmured, "I remember the first time he hurt her."

"Do you want to talk me about it?" said Bolvar softly.

Fel. Why not? They were alone, and it would endear her to the human for him to see weakness within her, to grant him the illusion of power as he pitied her.

The memory hovered like a tantalising string in a maze begging to be followed.

She hesitated. "I do not see the point in bringing it up."

But she fell in anyway.

"It will help you, Kat," she heard him say. "I'm here."

"He'd been..." _on fire, burning, all over, melting, leaving trails of magma along the ground, ripped apart — _"... changed, that day. Something happened."

_That day a surge of power had swept across the land like a powerful wind, like a prelude to the Sundering yet to come._

With horror she realised she was enraptured — she stared vacantly into space as she watched with morbid fascination.

_It all began with a warning._

_A drake arrived in a panic, wings straining in exhaustion. She recognised him as one of Melania's, but her brood was so far away — the drake had flown an impossible distance for his age. He arrived at the mouth of Sintharia's cave, eyes blown wide, mere hours after the Dragonflight felt the terrible surge of power. "It's Father!" he cried out as soon as he spotted Onyxia. "The Dragon Soul — the weapon he imbued with the Aspects' powers. He used it, slaughtered other Flights, and it tore him apart!"_

But why? Why had it all started? She could not remember. There must have been a reason, surely the other Flights had turned on them first?

_"He took my mother, he just __took__ her - "_

_Little Onyxia had gaped. "What?" she said. "Took her where? Is Melania alright?"_

_"No, he —" the drake choked. "He's falling apart, he's on fire, he's burning, he's melting, he — he __raped__ her, and she died before it was over. She's not the first — Broodmother Sintharia has to leave —"_

_But Sintharia glared at the drake. "I can fight for myself."_

"_No!" her half-brother's eyes blazed. "Get out of here! Mother couldn't fight him —"_

The memory proved too much for the simple brain of Onyxia's human form. Onyxia felt dimly aware of Katrana murmuring in her chair.

_But Onyxia could not leave her mother. She learned the drake's name — Sabellian — and they both stood guard and waited, knowing that mere drakes could not defeat the Aspect, especially when Onyxia was so small for her age. But if Neltharion had gone mad…_

_When Deathwing arrived, still crazed, the smell of his burning flesh permeating Onyxia's core, he headed straight for his mate, sending her brothers and sisters scattering in terror. At the last moment, fear froze Onyxia, but Sabellian did not hesitate. Sabellian — brave Sabellian — lunged at the Aspect that dwarfed him, and was bat aside like a toy, just like every drake that attacked in Sintharia's defence._

_Sabellian fell heavily to the ground. One of his legs crunched underneath him._

_And Sintharia's screams..._

_They echoed through Onyxia now. Screams of sheer __agony__. Deathwing clutched her in a searing embrace, and she could not escape however much she struggled, his claws of molten flame branding her with burns that would never heal..._

_And in front of a young Onyxia, she'd screamed, and screamed, and screamed..._

With difficulty, Onyxia dragged her consciousness to the present. "Yes, he raped her in front of me," she remarked lightly. "I cannot believe I forgot such an event." But the din of agony still echoed in her consciousness, and her eyes threatened to glaze over and fixate on nothing once again…

_Romathis, wanting to protect his younger sister, helped drag Sabellian out as quickly as they could._

_"Something is happening," croaked Sabellian as they were in the open air, pretending not to hear Sintharia's roars, pretending they weren't helpless to stop Neltharion. "The Dragonflight is changing. My siblings that hatched only yesterday converged on one another and tore each other apart…"_

The Purging hadn't always been here? No, Onyxia remembered, it hadn't. As her father had observed more than once, Onyxia had been a premature hatchling, a runt, and even as a wyrm she was nowhere near as big as she could have been. She would have died in the Purging, had it been around when she hatched.

_"Everyone's fighting among themselves, there's just so much madness — can't you hear it?" said Romathis, tossing his head. He hissed and clawed at his skull._

Her head buzzed. The buzzing had always been there — it was the sound of silence, the sound of blood pumping in the ears...

... or was it?

_"Hear what?" said Sabellian. And at that moment Onyxia's head clouded._

_"The buzzing, the voices, the whispers!" snarled Romathis. She screwed her eyes shut and snarled. "There's something in my head, get it out, get it —"_

And like a book with the ending torn out, it stopped.

Only then did Onyxia realise the human was calling her.

"Kat?" said Bolvar. "Are you alright? Kat?"

"Forgive me," said Onyxia. "I was merely recalling something."

"You were having an entire bloody flashback!" said Bolvar. "Kat, I'm — I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have been so careless, I had no idea." he shook his head.

And Onyxia remembered where she was. Remembered _who_ she was — she was Katrana Prestor right now, not Onyxia. She was a wolf in sheep's clothing, had been for thirty years, and she had —

_Almost blown the entire thing!_

Hissing, she dragged her consciousness kicking and screaming away from the gaping, enticing void that was her memory.

"I'm sorry," said Bolvar. "For what happened. For bringing it up. I was an unthinking fool, and for that I'm really sorry."

He annoyed her. The entire thing had annoyed her.

_The weakness was supposed to be fake. What are you, that you fall apart so easily in the company of lesser beings?_

The anger that had risen died abruptly at the voice in her head, the one she'd always thought was hers.

A chill went down her spine.

She stood up. "I shall retire early," she declared. "We must play again sometime. This game is fascinating. And I must, of course, win."

He stood up, and without hesitation he pulled her into a tight embrace. "Gods, Kat. I'm sorry."

She could not even find it within her to be revolted. Her entire body felt numb, dissociated from the present. The screams had echoed away, so had the images, but they were there, waiting. As if the traumatised, weak drake she had been back then had pressed the memory into a thick book like a flower, preserved in its entirely, and the book threatened to open if she gazed at it too long.

But now, instead of burning flesh and scorched earth she smelled skin, and soap. She tensed. There was a feldamned human touching her!

She pulled away.

"I'm sorry I upset you, Kat." Imploring green eyes gazed at her.

"I am _hardly_ upset." _Silence yourself_, she willed him. "There is nothing to apologise for, do not be foolish. I was fine, I am fine, and I shall be, most assuredly, _fine_."

He hesitated, but finally nodded. "Let me know if you need anything, then. Please."

"I shan't, because there is nothing I shall need." Katrana put on a smirk. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, then," he said.

-o-O-o-

After she left, Bolvar thought, _just how much more of a total, intrusive idiot can I __be__?_


	14. Breaking Down Walls

_**A/N:** Holy hell, NINE reviews? I am the most friggen spoiled writer ever, thank you all SO much! Eeee!_

_Anon review responses are at the bottom._

**_Warnings:_**_ More cursing than usual in this chapter, though not that much._

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

Nightmares riddled her light sleep, tearing her from unconsciousness again and again. Visions played across her mindscape; Sabellian injured and helpless in Outland, his Brood wiped out by the stranded Alliance forces; humans romping through the Wyrmbog and capturing her whelps; Romathis jeering at failed attempt after failed attempt to keep the human kingdom under control as Bolvar led an army into the Steppes. _What did I tell you, Onyxia?_ Her brother's voice jeered. _You're just as weak-willed as the abomination we call a brother!_

She attempted no more sleep after that. In her bathroom, she splashed her face with cold water.

All she had to do was charm the human. So why the delay? Why did she hesitate? Why did she insist on punishing herself with harsh words every time she took a step she knew the human would approve of?

She was afraid.

Caressed by the darkness and comforted by her human reflection, it seemed less of a disgusting crime and almost understandable. She feared touching the human again, and more than that she feared finding his embrace welcome. She covered her mouth and bent over the basin as bile rose in her throat at the thought, but nothing came out.

Not growing mortal enough could lead to eventual discovery.

Growing too mortal and weak would lead to derision, scorn and rebellion within her Flight if they saw it.

Quietly gaining control of her thoughts, she dressed. A walk in the fresh air would ground her and drive the shadows of doubt away.

The patrols long ago stopped attempting to herd her back into her room at night, and only the newer ones nodded to her. As she always did, she ignored them, allowing the silence to close in around her. The night's chill touched her skin, sending shivers through her skin. Sometimes, in the past, she'd run into other insomniacs. Fordragon seemed to have trouble sleeping from time to time, and at least once a month she'd find him pacing in the gardens.

Much to her displeasure, tonight was such a night. But before she could slip away, her foot crunched on the grass and he rose his head. "Lady Prestor," he said, his voice uncomfortably loud in the darkness. "Why am I not surprised to see you up and about?"

She did not like that he could predict her.

"I do not feel like sleeping," she said, lolling by the pillar, one foot on the stone step and ready to whisk her back to her quarters.

"Nightmares?"

She frowned. How did this human suddenly know her so well?

He smiled weakly as if in answer. "After what happened, nightmares seem to be inevitable."

"I don't dream," she said flatly, scrabbling as much as she could to draw back her old, familiar, neutral tone of voice.

"Forgive me for asking, then," Fordragon sighed, shaking his head.

But she could not _use_ her old tone of voice. To do so, to act in ways she always had whilst amongst humans, would be to alienate him and be unable to use him.

To earn his damn approval, she had to throw away pride, embrace complacency and weakness, and lie more than she'd ever lied in the last thirty years put together. She had to play pretend at being something she was not. She'd always carried home in her heart, keeping dragon culture within her, treating humans like other dragons instead of mortals.

To succeed, she had to abandon the last shreds of home she had in her personality.

Or she might never see it again.

"Yes," she finally said. Bolvar looked up in surprise. "I had nightmares. I could not sleep."

"I regret my part in this," he murmured.

Hadn't he said that _a million times already_? She resisted the urge to snap at him.

Instead, an image of the Bronze dragon appeared in her head, her white robes clinging to her in the rain, puddles forming at her feet.

_Think like a human_, the Bronze had said.

What would a human say here? What would a human think? Feel?

Gratitude that Bolvar took responsibility. Cared for in that he extended concern.

"Thank you, Bolvar," she said. "But it is of no consequence."

"Hardly," he said, but he looked comforted.

"It was not your intent to distress me," she said. _Lie to him, flatter him, compliment him._ "I suspect the memory was long waiting to surface, I am lucky that it did so in the company of one who would not judge me for it."

He smiled. A human, Katrana realised, would welcome the sight, and for once she did not completely abhor it. He sat on the wall, patting the space beside him, and Katrana steered her body to sit. "You've been acting differently. Before tonight, I mean. Is everything alright?"

He wasn't happy enough with her change, he had to know _why_? "Yes," she made herself say. "I am just tired. Sick and tired."

She hadn't had a good, solid, eighteen hours of sleep since she had laid her clutch in the Wyrmbog. Not even on the weekends could she do so without arousing suspicion. Instead she had to take her weekly sleep in portions over two nights.

"What of?"

"Everything," said Katrana.

"Maybe it's time for a holiday," said Bolvar. "You rarely go on leave as it is."

"I did a few years ago." For her mating and laying, as it was. She hadn't been her usual self in…

"But that was _years_ ago!" said Bolvar.

Katrana shook her head. She could not afford to go, not now that Windsor was in the Steppes and the Brotherhood was pushing for war. She held little control over the Brotherhood, but would have none at all in Dustwallow. At least here, she could keep a close eye on them.

"What do you need, then?"

_To return home. For my young and Brood to be safe. For the Dark Portal to reopen so we can be reunited with those of our Flight beyond. To be left in peace and to never have to fear encroachment again._

"I do not know."

"Does it help, talking to me?"

_Do not pity me_, she wanted to snap, but instead she buried her pride and drew up the lies she should have spoken years ago. "I have never had someone who seemed so interested in what I had to say before."

She had, once. Now he was either dead or too far away to help. Out of all the dragons in her Flight, only Sabellian had truly felt her equal. He had been even more of an outsider than she. She'd always been small, a sentry whelp destined to hatch prematurely and die within days, but she'd survived, and her brothers and sisters had not liked it when their children perished by the dozens, as all whelps did. And out of all the dragons she knew only Sabellian questioned their rules and customs.

Other dragons called it weakness to admit one's fears.

"_They are fools." _The memory of Sabel's voice rose within her thoughts, and she remembered every etched line of his scowl. He'd worn his favourite human guise as he spoke these words, she could remember. _"Fear is a warning, an ugly truth that forces confrontation. Only by listening to your fears can you plan for every eventuality, every possible failure. Do not be stupid and lie to yourself as they do. When their fears come true, they will not be prepared."_

Sabellian had always seen through her. She could lie to herself, but never to her brother.

If only Deathwing had listened to him. If only it had been Sabel who'd come to Stormwind, perhaps as Daval Prestor the second. Sabel understood humans. Sabel would be able to push aside pride and culture for a greater purpose. Sabel would be able to compliment humans, and perhaps even enjoy their presence. He'd always had an odd connection with mortals that few other Black Dragons possessed. Titans knew how he'd been able to stand them in the first place…

But there was no use mourning. Sabellian was gone.

"How do you do it?" she said.

"Hmm?" Bolvar's watery smile lingered.

"Treat the fools that surround us with respect," said Katrana. "Do they not drive you up the wall?"

"Truthfully? Yes, some of them do," he said. He smirked. "And you're one of them, but you don't see me harping at _you_, do you?"

"I think you are afraid of me."

_That_ caught him unawares, and a long pause elapsed before he answered. "Since we're being truthful here… yes. You're intimidating. Most of the nobles are scared of you."

"And yet, you lose your temper with me occasionally." It was not common, but it did happen.

"Someone has to stand up to you."

"I am glad _someone_ does not take it lying down. Some days I feel like I am surrounded by victims who cry uncle at the slightest provocation."

He smiled. "Is that why you do it, I wonder?"

"No," said Katrana honestly. "I do it because I do not have control of my own temper."

"They say anger is often rooted in fear and depression."

"Do you honestly think I am the type to get depressed?"

"No. That would be why you're always _angry_."

Onyxia was hardly depressed, but the human was surprising her with his intelligence. Perhaps the fool had brains after all. His strategies during chess had not been bad when she had been paying attention and he did enjoy puzzles. Chess was a puzzle, was it not? And now he looked at her as if she was a chess board in front of him, figuring out which piece to move next.

She found she did not object to this. Let him think her a riddle to solve. It would keep his attention. Let the human see weakness.

Perhaps they enjoyed the weaknesses of others because they could relate to it, she realised. Seeing weaknesses in others, rather than pushing them to do better, made them feel better about themselves. Bolvar carried guilt with him like a second shadow, his mind often teeming with _should have_ and _what if_s on the rare occasion she checked on it. Of all the humans she was familiar with, he most of all would feel comforted in seeing weakness.

Seeing weakness in others would mean they could forgive themselves.

Perhaps Onyxia could learn from that.

"I am not anger incarnate, Bolvar," she said. "I have many aspects to myself, and everyone merely sees that part of me. I am not an extra in a play, defined by what I present to others. Like you, I have hopes and wishes of my own. Like you, there are things I fear. Like you, I have done things in the past that I regret. Unlike you… I do not own up to it easily."

"What are you afraid of, Kat?"

She crossed one leg over the other, pausing. It could not hurt to inject some truth into her fabrication. Too many lies would be difficult to remember. No dragon would ever know. "I fear not being able to protect Jettion."

That made the human blink.

"I have grown attached to the whelp," said Katrana. "I feel as if he is a son." And he was, too. Not long after she had laid, Onyxia had reluctantly given to Romathis many of her eggs for his own experiments. Jettion had been one of them, but had been captured by an illegal raiding party and brought to Stormwind. Onyxia had slain his night elven captor and gifted him to Anduin as a living alarm for herself. It would be Jettion who would report to her if Anduin, or if anyone else, grew suspicious.

And he was useful for sending letters to Romathis in Blackwing Lair as well.

"And, since you said we are both being honest, what is it _you_ fear?" she asked.

He smiled weakly. "I'm afraid that this is all there is to life."

"Being Highlord?"

"Indeed. It's not…" He shook his head. "I am glad to make a difference. But sometimes I wish I'd just grown up as a merchant's son, like I should have. I always told myself that when Varian came back, I could live my life again, be more than a soldier or leader. I guess I'll have to retire after Anduin no longer needs me."

"And what will you do with yourself?"

"Maybe I'll get back to my writing," said Bolvar. "I used to love reading books, and writing stories. I stopped doing it months ago."

"I enjoy reading," said Katrana. "But not fiction. Mostly myths and legends."

"And dragons?"

"And dragons." The only thing better than knowing your enemy, was knowing what your enemy knew of _you_.

"Why dragons?"

_Play with his heartstrings. Have him take pity on you._

"Because dragons fought back," said Katrana. At his confused look, she said, "Did you know dragons often attack their mates?"

Bolvar's eyes widened. "Why?"

"Because they are animals, and it is what animals do," said Katrana. "Animals do not bother with morals. If they are angry, they fight. When a dragon is angry with their mate, they settle it with violence. And you know what their mates do?"

"What do they do?"

"Fight back," said Katrana. "They fight back, they have their squabble, and then it is over. No self-blame, no self-loathing, no wondering of what one had done wrong. One attacks, one fights back, there is a winner or a stalemate, and then it is over, things go back to normal, and they forget. It is the way of the wild, Bolvar. The strongest survive, and those who are too weak die."

He seemed to look at her through brighter eyes. Bolvar always wanted to sympathise, and she recognised the look of one searching for understanding when she saw it. "And do you agree with that?"

She gazed at him for a moment. He looked as if he would appreciate honesty, and so she said, "Yes, I do. The world would be much simpler if people merely got their disagreements sorted with a good, old-fashioned brawl. If the strongest led, as they should."

"But that paves the way for tyrants, don't you think?"

"If a populace is so weak as to allow such a person to lead them, then that is what they deserve," said Katrana.

He rose to the occasion nicely, Katrana thought, rebutting her with genuine enjoyment. "And yet, it's our duty to use our strength to help those weaker than ourselves."

"Says who?" said Katrana. "Us? No, nature herself has more say than we do, and you will find that nature purges the weak, just as they deserve."

"But why?" said Bolvar. "Why do they deserve it?"

"Because everyone should do better, find the strength within themselves."

"But not everyone can do better," said Bolvar. "They can only do the best they can, and sometimes it isn't enough."

"It is weak to depend upon others."

"I don't think it's a matter of dependency," Bolvar mused, tilting his head. The guilt and sadness from before had completely vanished, and right now his expression was reminiscent of a dog chewing on a tough bone. "I think it's a matter of being able to trust someone to be your strength for you. We cannot be good at everything, after all."

"Trust _is_ dependency."

"What makes you say that?" His eyes were still bright, looking towards her in genuine curiosity. For all he did not seem to enjoy being a Highlord much, he _did_ enjoy debate. Friendly debate, rather than nobles jumping down his and other people's throats.

"If someone breaks your trust, then you are let down, and if you are let down that means you depended on them to act a certain way."

"I don't think so."

"What does it mean to you, then?"

Bolvar smiled. "It means knowing that someone has your back. That if you mess up, they will help you get up again."

"Dependence," clucked Katrana. In spite of herself, she was beginning to enjoy herself as well.

"No," said Bolvar. "It isn't dependence. It's merely utilising what someone you trust has to offer. And besides, independence doesn't mean doing _everything_ alone."

"As a matter of fact, it does."

"One could argue that _you_ aren't independent," said Bolvar. "You rely on others to farm the food you eat, the cotton and silk you wear."

Oh, but _Onyxia_ was independent. She'd hunted her own food, found her own shelter, drank water that she had found. But Bolvar knew not that he spoke to a dragon.

Instead, she said, "How I wish I could."

"So why aren't you?" He smirked at her. _You'd be the feral Kat again_, his mind said, loud and clear.

She ignored it. "Because other things are a priority. For instance, the work I have to do here."

"No wonder you don't like holidays," Fordragon grinned, eyes full of mischief. She found herself pleased at this. A happy human was a less annoying one, mostly.

"No," she said. "The more time one takes off, the less work gets done. I prefer to get things done immediately, and my work never ends."

Fordragon frowned. "Are you sure you don't need time off? I can give it to you, if you want. As much time as you need."

"I have no need for a break," said Katrana, standing up. "But I must, however, sleep."

Bolvar smiled at her. "Sleep well, Katrana," he said. "I hope you sleep better. It's good to talk to you."

"And you," she felt obligated to repeat.

She would not sleep tonight, and she would not try. She had much work to do, always taking on more than even the most overworked human, because of how little she had to sleep. It would keep her busy for a few hours, at least.

-o-O-o-

Hidden from the eyes of the public, operatives of SI:7 prowled the roofs of the Trade District, sweeping the streets and squares with their gaze. Some lay flat on tiles heated by the daylight, a crossbow at the ready, eyes trained on Anduin and all those who walked around him. If anyone so much as coughed too loudly around Anduin, they'd find themselves riddled with bolts. Right now, the Trade District was the safest place in the city.

Beneath the eaves, Katrana Prestor perched on the edge of a barrel as if it was a throne, head tilted back, eyes glazed over as she ignored the continued attempts of Carlos Hackett to be invited into conversation. The enthusiastic shine of Hackett's eyes as he persisted annoyed Bolvar more and more by the minute. Couldn't the idiot _see_ that Kat didn't want to speak to him?

After a long morning and afternoon of assemblies with nobles squabbling over taxes and a brief meeting with the Miners' Guild in the Dwarven District, sitting around doing nothing was a welcome change to Bolvar, and to his surprise, Kat had decided to accompany him. She looked exotic today, wearing her hair in a braid streaming high from her head, light silk pants reminding Bolvar of some kind of desert princess. He wasn't the only one who noticed. Heads turned, women scolded their husbands and jealous girls scowled from the shadow of the nearby Auction House. Somehow, not a single soul recognised her. Bolvar almost hadn't when he'd run into her that afternoon.

And Carlos Hackett drank in the sight.

At least calling her "Katrina" again had blown any meagre chances he may have had with the woman. As soon as Katrana scowled at him he'd hastily corrected himself. The bastard should know better, he was _married_. In fact, he'd spent the last ten minutes attempting to convince Katrana to visit his wife's dressmaking shop. What was up with _that_?

Kat continued to ignore him.

A nearby rogue tensed as a figure approached Bolvar, but relaxed when he appeared to recognise the voice of a certain guild master. "What are _you_ doing here?" said Leo. "I haven't seen you out and about in broad daylight without the ornamental armour in years."

"I'm going civilian." Bolvar pulled his brimmed hat further over his eyes. The air chilled him, but the sun still beat down all the same.

"As I noticed." Leo flashed a grin in Hackett's direction. "Good to see he's getting under her skin."

"Don't be petty," Bolvar grunted.

"Looks like he wanted to get under something _else_, too," Leo remarked, before he cast Bolvar a contemplative glance. As always, the Brother wore his dragon scale armour. As soon as Katrana saw, she'd be searing holes in his skull with her glares. It was almost endearing. Bolvar had never really thought of her as an animal lover until lately.

An uncomfortable silence passed between them as Leo stared at Bolvar, before he said flatly, "You know she's just sleeping with you for the power, right?" said Leo.

Bolvar's train of thought screeched, derailed, and piled up. "_What?_"

"You have _other_ advisors, Bolvar. What about Tariona White? Why don't you ever listen to _her_?"

"I'm still getting over the _first_ thing you said, what in the world — " realising Katrana had turned her head in their direction from the other side of the square, an eyebrow cocked, Bolvar dropped his tone into an angry whisper. He barely heard himself over the crowd. "What the hell makes you think that I'd stoop myself to such levels?"

Leo shrugged. "If you're not, then expect her to try," Leo yawned. "She's a pretty face, and she'll play it to her advantage."

"What the hell is wrong with you? That's the most unfair piece of bullshit I've ever heard you spout. What gives you the right? She's a woman, Leo, not an evil archetype!"

Leo's eyes subtly widened. He shrugged quickly, slipping off the wall. "Touchy. Don't say I didn't warn you, Bolvar."

"You go too far," said Bolvar. "I don't understand this battle you two persist in, but if you drag her name through the mud one more time…"

Leo laughed bitterly. "I don't need to do that, Bolvar!" he said. "She's done it all herself! You see the way she acts. She snaps and insults people all the time, people who've never wronged her! You have other advisors, remember? Why don't you listen to Lady White more?"

Bolvar arched an eyebrow. "This is that dragon bull you're going on about, isn't it?"

"The dragons are — "

" — Between a woman who knows absolutely _nothing_ about dragons, and one who is an expert, just whose word do you think I'm going to take?" Hot anger shot through Bolvar's veins. How could Leo be so _ignorant?_ "I'd be nothing short of a complete and utter fool to take White's word over Lady Prestor's. As for my other advisors, if they spoke up more, I would be willing to listen."

Leo sneered. "If they had the courage to! Lady Prestor runs right over them and tears them apart if they do that!"

"It is hardly her fault if they lack the spine to stand up to her."

"Lack the spine?" Leo glared at him. "See? Do you have any idea how much you sound like her? Ever since Var—" appearing to remember himself, Leo quickly changed tacks. "Ever since a certain event several months ago, you've turned into someone I don't recognise anymore, Bolvar. Reginald thinks the same. Open your _eyes_. Don't you see what she's doing? To you? To everyone around us? To the entire _kingdom_?"

Bolvar opened his mouth in a retort, but a smooth voice cut across his, causing him to almost jump out of his skin. "No, I do not. Pray, tell, what _am_ I doing that angers you so?"

When did she approach? Bolvar couldn't remember seeing her shake off Hackett's attention.

Leo jumped, pivoting around on a foot and his hands darting to his hips. But before his fingers could touch the hilts of his daggers he lowered his arms, and without hesitation he said, "You know what you're doing. But why? What do you stand to gain by tearing this kingdom apart?"

Katrana raised an eyebrow, eyes half glazed over already. "Yet another conspiracy theorist who is incapable of trusting the government. I shan't bother entertaining your fancies, for I know that a battle against a man who has made up his mind is impossible to win." She looked to Bolvar. "The carriage is here to take Anduin to the Keep, will you accompany us?"

With a snarl, Leo turned on his heel and stormed away.

"I think I'll walk." Bolvar's stomach churned. Now Leo no longer confronted him with anger, his own drained into a hollow feeling within. Leo and Reginald had been his best friends since childhood, and since he'd taken up position as regent lord, he'd felt them both drift away. Oh, they'd had their lulls and breaks in the friendship, but they'd never felt _distant_ before. They'd always been able to pick up their friendships where they'd left off, get together for drinks and chat the night away...

But now a gorge stretched in between him and Leo. His heart sank. He was probably losing Reginald too. Reginald, whom he'd barely thought of since his departure to the Steppes. Reginald, who fought off waves of dragonspawn every day...

Katrana gazed at him with an owl-like tilt of her head. She shrugged lightly. "Maeqa is in the carriage," she said. "Allow me a minute, and then perhaps I may join you?"

_That_ was surprising. Bolvar couldn't ever remember her offering her company unless she had an ulterior motive. Perhaps she wanted to tear him apart over something he'd said in an assembly earlier that day.

"If you want," he said reluctantly.

The carriage set off without them, Anduin and Myth safely inside. If it weren't for the quiet woman walking beside him, Bolvar would have quite enjoyed pretending to be a commoner again, but Katrana's presence robbed him of that.

"I fail to understand Mister Hackett's obsession with me," said Katrana as they stepped into the canals.

"He fancies you," said Bolvar.

"No, I do not believe that is it," Katrana frowned. "I do not believe it is sexual in nature."

Ha! Look who was naïve _now_? "I think he's one of those perverted people."

"Pardon?"

"He's evidently trying to get you to do something with him and his wife. If his wife is even real."

Katrana arched an eyebrow. "Ah, I see what you are insinuating," she said, keeping perfect step with him. She was odd that way. "You believe having more than one lover is perverted?"

"Heavens, yes!"

Her eyes flashed.

Uh oh.

"Believe me, Highlord," said Katrana. "I do not have a problem with non-monogamous relationships. It is no more perverted than monogamy is greedy and selfish. To be bound to one person and ask that they never so much as admire another _is_ quite self-centered, greedy and arrogant."

Being torn apart by an angry Katrana Prestor was just another day in the life.

"You're the perverted type, then?" said Bolvar, keeping his voice light. He hastily added, "I mean that in jest, of course."

"No, I find myself being the more greedy-and-selfish kind," said Katrana. "But I do not consider myself superior to those who take more than one lover."

Damn. He could neverbe with a woman who insisted on taking more than one lover, why couldn't she be one of them? It would make everything so much simpler.

And immediately, he could have kicked himself. Wasn't the fact she was cruel and nasty more than enough reason not to want her? Yes, she deserved patience and kindness to an extent, but any man who fancied her was either a complete idiot or… but then, she'd changed at least a little lately, hadn't she? Last night she'd been surprisingly open.

… Why was he even thinking about this?

Shit.

He dragged the conversation onto another track. "You said you liked to read. Mythology and history, was it?"

"Indeed."

"Non-fiction, then?"

"Yes."

"Biographies?"

"No."

Unlike the night before, the woman was not very forthcoming. She almost seemed back to her normal self, if it weren't for the fact she walked closer to him than usual.

"And yet, pardon me, I could not help but notice that the book Rivers gave you was a biography." Bolvar looked at her.

Katrana frowned again. "He has awful taste," she said after a brief pause. "And yet, I find myself without the heart to tell him how terrible it is. He is something like a demented puppy in that he is determined he can get in my good books."

And thirty seconds ago he was reminding himself of what a horrible person she was. _This was not helping!_

Yes, she was a physically attractive woman, but the way she treated others was repulsive. Open and shut, over and done with, _end of fucking story._

But it touched him that she didn't speak her mind so harshly with everyone. Knowing she was not so nasty with Rivers gave him some hope for her. Though, Rivers had always seemed to be an exception of hers. Maybe they were even friends.

Perhaps he had been completely patronising to assume Katrana had never had friends of any kind.

"Do you like fiction?" he said.

"I have better things to do with my time than indulge in escapism."

"Allow me to rise to the occasion, then," said Bolvar. "I'll find you a story you'll enjoy."

Katrana snorted lightly. "If you wish, though I am equally confident I will wish to hurl it at the wall before I'm ten pages in."

"You're on," said Bolvar.

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Review replies!_

**_JustMe:_**_ Whoa, that's one heck of a compliment, thank you! :)_

**_Kai:_**_ Aye, they were, once upon a time they were more earth-based rather than fire-based as they are now. Thanks for your review, I forgot that some people aren't familiar with some bits of lore, so it'll help me keep that in mind when I write future chapters._

**_Etrg_**_: Thanks for the review! Longish response incoming. Sorry about that, I'd have PMed you if you had an account._

_While you're right that the corruption was more gradual, the rape of Sintharia really did happen. I haven't read the associated books, but I've read that when the Demon Soul ripped Deathwing apart, it caused him to go insane and, ahem, forcefully mate with all of his consorts whilst being a giant melty thing on fire. Sintharia was the only one who survived._

_I wasn't sure if Sabellian and Onyxia were full siblings or not. Whenever I read about Sintharia and Deathwing, Sabellian was always listed as a relative of Deathwing, but never Sintharia, so I assumed half-sibs. Thanks for the correction! Having not read the books I only have wikis and WoWInsider's "Know Your Lore" column to go on. I'll keep it as it is for now to avoid confusion, but if I ever write about the Black Flight again I'll do it properly this time, and when I can I'll edit the previous chapter to make it look more like a turning point in the corruption and less like a sudden happening._

_And thank you for the comments on the more technical aspects. I'll stop the underlining, but keep italics for thoughts for the sake of consistency. Parentheses are my bane, too. I always find a million of them in my first drafts. I'm sorry they leaked through! I worked hard to stamp them out in this chapter and I hope it makes my writing better. I'll also take care to be clearer as to who Romathis is, so thanks for pointing that out._

_Thank you so much!_

**_Meroez:_**_ Thanks, I'm glad you're enjoying it!_


	15. Met You Before

**_A/N:_**_ Alas, sorry, this chapter is a short one, but it comes with good news! I have just finished planning out the rest of part one, which means it's smoother sailing from here when it comes to writing it all out! YAY. Part one has about... ten to fifteen chapters(ish) left in it, I reckon. Hard to tell exactly at this stage._

_**Also, I have an inconsistency to correct**: earlier I said Jettion was given to Anduin on his ninth birthday, and then not long after said Anduin was ten years old. Sorry, Anduin is **nine** at this stage in the fic, d'oh. I quickly corrected that._

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

Why did the innocents have to suffer?

The little Bronze had poured twenty five years of her life into the alternate timeline, experimenting with trial and error and tweaking details. No matter how hard she tried, certain events came to pass no matter her efforts. _Fine_, she decided. She could work with those.

But what was worse were the events that _needed_ to happen. The completely preventable events that broke your heart because they had to happen anyway, otherwise everything was lost. _Everything_.

And Hora felt like a monster.

_Sometimes_, Chromie had told her once_, innocents have to die._

She had to distract herself. So far, event aside, everything went well. The gentle nudges she'd given Onyxia and Fordragon took effect far more easily than she'd anticipated. In the main timeline, Fordragon had not sympathised with Katrana Prestor. In the main timeline, Onyxia had been too stand-offish to achieve her goal of gaining his favour.

This timeline was different. Hora still had parts to play, things to say, stuff to do, but today her crushed heart cried out for a break from yet another failed attempt to get around what she'd dubbed the Event From Hell and decided to take a breather in sunny Stormwind. Mortals bustled around in the chilled air, their eyes passing over her with barely a register as Hora sat on a tiny wall, her legs dangling over the canal waters. Her reflection's lids drooped over her eyes. Hora fought a yawn.

Onyxia and Bolvar's relationship had been the _easy_ part. There was Samantha to put into place, so Sabellian would do the right thing when the time came. The Obsidian Dawn had to be prodded into behaving, because the Steward's fatal temper danced on the edge, and it was far too easy for the volatile Dawn to get under his skin. And it didn't help the Ambassador was so close to the Dragonqueen, either…

Ugh. Hora had hated tweaking Romathis's fate as well, and decided to leave it alone. The dragon known by mortals as Nefarian would play his part as he should, however much Hora hated the outcome. Some things should not be avoided.

She smoothed the creases in her robes. She loved these robes. She'd had her hair and nails done and visited the hot pools of Winterspring, but it had all failed to cheer her up. She sighed. Hearing the activity of mortals around did little to help. Poor mortals. Most Bronzes viewed them as characters in a play, mere entertainment…

… And Hora was starting to see why. It would be too heartbreaking to view them as anything else.

"'Ey," said a voice. "Haven't I met you before?"

Blinking, Hora looked up. A woman with short blonde hair blinked at her, her tabard bearing the red and black markings of the Brotherhood of Cinders.

"You must be mistaken," said Hora, but she recognised the human. How many times now had she seen her in a crowd, following Leo into Stormwind Keep? Still, there was no reason for the human to know _her._

"My name's Tarani?" said the woman. "Tarani Jensen."

"Not familiar, I'm sorry."

"Oh, I get it," Tarani smirked. "You just haven't met me _yet_. Not to worry."

… Oh.

_Blast._

"What are you implying?" said Hora, feigning innocence.

"I met you," said Tarani flatly. "Andorhal. We were doing work with temporal… parasite… things, in Andorhal. You knew my name, but I didn't know _you_, and you said you'd met me before but not the other way around. I guess that explains it."

"Oh, hell!" said Hora. Without another word, she climbed to her feet and zipped away as quickly as she could, not even daring to slow down time lest it raise the alarm. Her wards had failed? She'd checked them the date before of her three years ago!

Chromie was _here_? She'd found her? _Hell, damnation, drat!_

Although, when she zipped up the stairs of her cottage, the wards worked perfectly, Hora was not reassured. Her fifteen-thousand-year-old self would know how to get around those wards. Why hadn't Hora thought of that _before_?

Chromie knew she was here. There was no doubt that she would remember this. She'd drilled the tenets of the Bronze Dragonflight into Hora's head because Chromie had once been the rebel who questioned everything, who defied Nozdormu, who desperately tried to make happy endings in every single timeline she got her hands on…

They'd found her dangerous. So they'd combed the timelines and found her matured, cynical older self and brought her to teach Hora, thinking that Hora would listen to _her_. Hora hadn't, of course. Chromie was annoyingly cheerful and had forgotten what she stood for, what _Hora_ stood for.

If Chromie ever wanted to talk to Neltharion, she went back in time. She didn't understand. To Chromie, the Black Dragonflight had never suffered genocide because they still existed in another timeline. To Chromie, Neltharion was still alive. She didn't care about the war that had come after his death, the event that almost destroyed the four Dragonflights left…

But why was Chromie in _Andorhal_? Why not here? If Chromie wanted to stop her, why didn't she merely appear the very moment Hora had and jerked her out?

Relief made her rigid body slump into an armchair. Through the window in front of her, mortals played out their normal lives, ever moving through the streets like water running through channels in rock. Perhaps this was another Chromie. There were a million versions of herself that _weren't_ alternate. There was her seven-thousand-year-old self, her seven-thousand-and-one-year-old self… so many Chromies, so many Horas. Meeting one was always a headache. Meeting a younger one was always embarrassing.

Still, she had to do better. If against the evidence it _was_ her mentor, then Hora had to protect the timeline better to prevent her getting in.

But she wasn't even three hundred yet. How could she hope to erect a barrier powerful enough to keep someone many, many times older than her out? Especially someone who already knew her inside and out?

No. If she was still here, it was because Chromie wanted her to be.

And if Chromie wanted her to be here, it was because she wanted Hora to learn, and the best way to learn was through failure…

_No_. She would do this, she _would_. Nobody would stop her.

The Black Dragonflight would be saved. The Obsidian Dawn would survive. She'd make sure of it.

* * *

**_A/N: Anon review replies!_**

**_Etrg:_**_ Forgot to address the drake thing, whoops! Yes, I agree that it's a bit unrealistic, now I look on it, that the drakes would be so quick to attack Deathwing and I'm going to adjust that chapter before the next one goes up. And thanks, feel free to share those links! I'm a bit worried to discover lorefail in my fic I haven't already noticed (there's already another not including the drake chapter that's too late to correct. D'oh!), but at the very least it'll help prevent them in the future. Thank you!_

**_JustMe:_**_ Description is a weakness of mine. Thanks for pointing that out, I'll do better with it in the future. :)_

**_Arreat:_**_ Your review made my day and is what made me sit down and spend an entire day fleshing everything out and getting it right, lol! Thank you so much. :D_

**_Kai:_**_ It would be very cruel of me to mention Sabellian a lot and not have him turn up! But it's still a bit away before the Dark Portal opens._


	16. Human Hobbies

**_A/N: _**_I hate this chapter and wrestled with it for a few days. The pace of the story has been slow up until now, but it shall speed up a bit from the next chapter onwards. It shall not be rushed, however. Or, at least, I bloody hope it won't read like that._

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

"What is _that_?" said Katrana distastefully.

On the grass, Myth and Anduin stood opposite each other, sticks in hand. "Your posture's wrong, you gotta stand like _this_," Anduin said. "Yeah, and you keep your feet apart so you keep your balance when you stab something. Yeah, that's good!"

Their stark voices seemed out of place against a backdrop of whispering leaves and the distant song of a lyre, muffled by walls. The blue sky smiled down on the park. Outside one building, the front door wide open, lay several stacks of books beside a frowning Kair.

"Kair wanted me to raid his books," said Bolvar, shoving himself on the bench beside Katrana. "I've been helping him pack up, since he's moving to the Keep for that library job. So, Kat, allow me to introduce you to a _book_."

"I do not understand why you insist on being out and about today."

"Because I can? Nothing on my plate today, I never get a Thursday like that."

"Indeed," Katrana grumbled. "And I can _see_ it's a book."

"For you," he said, putting it into her lap. "I think you'd like this one."

A frown creased Katrana's features as she picked up the object. "For me?" she echoed, blinking in confusion.

He smiled. "Didn't I say I'd to rise to the challenge?" he teased. "I want to get you hooked on fiction. I don't read as much as I used to myself."

She opened the book to the first page, already scowling. "I doubt you will have much luck, though I do thank you for the attempt."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it!"

"Mmm," said Katrana, turning the page. Her eyes were still on the text so far. His own lowered to greet the words she read. He hoped he wasn't too close for her comfort.

But she seemed not to be upset. She was a slow reader, Bolvar found, as he finished the pages long before she did. "I think you'll enjoy it," he said. "Give it a chance."

Her frown already began to fade. "If you say so," she said. "I am still not convinced…"

One problem with being a swift reader, as Bolvar was, was that he often missed details that would resurface later and confuse him. As he read the pages again over her shoulder, he already spied details he'd missed the first time.

In front of them, he was barely aware of Anduin and Myth. "A centre of gravity is important," Anduin droned. "If you don't keep an eye on it, you'll overbalance, and then they'll beat you up."

"I don't want them to beat me up," said Myth worriedly.

"Which is why I'm teaching you how to stab them."

"I would _prefer_ there was no violence at all," came Kair's voice from the house.

"I should help Kair," said Bolvar, tearing his eyes from the page.

"Yes," said Katrana, without looking up. "You should."

"Will you help as well?" Bolvar smirked.

"I am a lady," said Katrana. "Therefore I shall sit around and look pretty. So, no."

Bolvar laughed, standing. "_Very_ pretty."

"I warn you, your plan may not succeed," Kair noted as Bolvar approached, rubbing his hands together.

"Plan?" said Bolvar.

"Woo the lady with books," said Kair, and it was all Bolvar could do not to snicker. "I must warn you, my mate attempted that with me, and was subsequently ignored when it worked _too_ well."

"That's not my intent, but if she ends up throwing herself at me as a result I'll be sure to let you know about it."

Kair chuckled. Bolvar called over the boys. Myth pouted, but Anduin grinned with eagerness as they set to work boxing up the night elves' possessions. "Most of this will go to the library," said Kair, a note of despair in his voice as he stared at his living room. It took hours to clean the mess, and Bolvar discovered that there was little furniture underneath all of the books. "I shall miss my children but visit them often."

"I don't want to live in the library!" said Myth. Beside him, his little dog whined. "Not by myself!"

"All you'd have to do is open this place to the public and then you would already," said Anduin.

The bright daylight wore into orange, and the children had long abandoned by the adults in favour of skulking around the moonwell by the time Kair thanked Bolvar for the help and bid him a good night. Katrana blinked owlishly, touching the inside cover of the back of the book as Bolvar approached. "That was unexpectedly interesting," she conceded.

He grinned, offering her another book. "There's a second part," he said with a wink. He had a few more stuck under his arm that Kair had made him take with him. "We should head back. It's good to move around and not be stuck with paperwork all day. Kair was very appreciative for the help, he is a pleasant man."

She hesitated, taking the book with a nod of thanks. She seemed to hesitate before she said, "I daresay you needed the rest. And Anduin was pleased to see his friend again so soon."

It was unlike her to fuss over someone, to be concerned. But then, she'd been a bit different lately. She seemed to have grown somewhat attached to him and showed it in an awkward, self-conscious manner. He smiled at her with reassurance. "Let's get Anduin and head back, shall we?"

"Indeed," she murmured, the first book tucked under her arm and the second already open in her hands as she stood.

"Try not to walk into a wall," he grinned at her.

"Did you say something?" she murmured.

That made him laugh.

-o-O-o-

Perhaps not _everything_ about human culture was terrible. Katrana found the books fascinating. Dragons, long ago, used to tell stories to their young but when Onyxia was young they'd deemed it a foolish past time. Come to think of it, that was, perhaps, around the time Deathwing had broken Sabellian's leg…

But human stories held far more detail, and whilst she read she'd forgotten everything. Forgot that she was in the park in the warm sun, forgot that Bolvar sat far too close for her comfort, forgot that she was a dragon among humans. As the story drew her in, she forgot her own existence. The story's ending jerked her back into her own body as Katrana Prestor, and she found herself cast between her own identity and the dwarvish skin she'd worn whilst deep in the story. When Bolvar offered her the second book she had to stop herself snatching it from him

Perhaps, forgetting had its place. Escapism had its place. She felt far more relaxed after a good book. It had been hard to force the book closed as she and Bolvar started the long walk back to the Keep as sunset bled into twilight, with Anduin bounding beside them and asking about the approaching Winter's Veil Ball. Before she parted with the two of them, Bolvar offered her another book. "I know it's thick," he'd said, his eyes glittering with hope. "But maybe you'd like it. Do let me know what you think of it."

After she finished the second, she opened the third. She had all night. She only slept every now and then, after all.

When dawn came she closed the book with reluctance. She had to bathe and change her clothes, and resume a life of drafting laws and advising.

Escaping the mortals around her for a night, forgetting that she was a dragon in sheep's clothing, had been a blessing.

-o-O-o-

"This is Dragonbane," said Tariona White.

That single word made Katrana pause on her way to cut through the gardens to the library. In her hands Tariona White cradled a small pot bearing a half-withered sapling sporting a dying flower. Lords Fordragon and Fletcher frowned at it, one with confusion and the other with thought.

Katrana knew that herb. She also knew why the humans had named it as such. "I sense that this will be bad news," she said, stepping closer, her steps crunching in the grass.

Bolvar glanced at the bag at her hip, crammed with books like a guilty secret, and smiled. Fletcher rose his chin, and White scowled.

"Ah," she said. "Lady Prestor, I did not expect to see you here at this time of day."

"Evidently not," said Katrana. "Dragonbane, you say? The plant looks as if it's dying."

"It had a rough journey here," said White, looking down on it. "But I've already seen a druid and I'm confident it will be nursed back to health.

"Perhaps Windsor mentioned it in his report to you," said Lady White, looking to Highlord Fordragon, who rubbed his scruffy chin. "He sent to me a sample of the plant after bearing witness to a whelp ingesting it. The whelp died within a minute."

Whelp_lings_, it appeared, still thought eating everything was a good idea. Some things never changed. "It must have been a younger whelp, for the older ones do not stuff foreign objects into their mouths."

"Details," said White. "One of the rogues made a poison out of its sap. Ever since, they've been able to repel dragonspawn attacks with far more efficiently, it's a strong poison to them. But get this, it has healing properties as well! One of the other men mistook the vial for a healing potion and rubbed it into his arm, which had been afflicted by dragon flame. The burn vanished within the hour!"

Katrana stood rigid as a thoughtful expression appeared on Bolvar's face. He took the pot from Tariona, tilting it this way and that. "And the plant itself is a new discovery?" he said.

"Yes," said Tariona. "They have been finding the occasional species within the Steppes that has not been known to any other biologist or herbalist beforehand. There is a type of spider, for instance, that is able to sheathe itself in flame without causing any harm to itself..." She brightened. "Perhaps I may suggest sending in herbalists to accompany the expedition? Imagine what other herbs can be found there, what new medicines can be developed from that?"

"Oh yes," drawled Katrana. "Let us anger the dragons even further, that is not a bad idea at _all_."

She ignored the irritated look Fordragon shot her from the corner of his eye. Katrana muffled a sigh. "And yet," she added, before anyone else could speak, "I do not see the harm in suggesting it to the House of Nobles."

Let her suggest it. Shutting White down in court was almost _fun_. Only she and Fordragon stood between Katrana and being Regent Lady, and making the woman first in line look like a fool felt entertaining.

"I'm not certain it's worth it," said Bolvar, to her surprise. "We have already overstayed our welcome as it is. Windsor reported to me that they have not discovered anything substantial except that the dragonspawn resent their presence. Along with the orcs. _And_ the Dark Irons. So far, the dragons have only been aggressive when we have been in their territory, with the exception of one isolated incident."

"I am quite surprised Lady Prestor is suggesting the idea's proposal," said Lord Fletcher. "Normally one would think she is more intent on holding _back_ humanity's advances."

"If you say so," said Katrana, gazing at the plant. "It _would_ figure that the one plant most poisonous to dragonkin would grow in their territory, no? And Fletcher, weren't you against the idea of provoking the dragons further not long ago?"

"I am uncertain, to tell the truth," said Fletcher. "Their constant attacks on Windsor have me feeling uneasy."

"If you wander into a lion's den, do not expect any better," Katrana met his eyes. There was something in their darkness she did not like, some deep intelligence she recognised in her own kin.

Hmm.

_Romathis always wanted power_, said a voice inside her. _He's keeping a close eye on you…_

Ridiculous. She trusted her brother. If Fletcher was indeed dragonkin, he was likely an independent sticking his snout where it did not belong. Remembering her flashback with discomfort, she shoved the thought away. "They were merely displaying defensive aggression," said Katrana. "Or hunting on their own territory. Like wolves."

"We put down wolves," said Fletcher.

"If a wolf kills your sheep and threatens your family, you put it down," said Katrana. "But the Steppes are far away and the dragons have only been proven to venture far beyond that only once, in pursuit of a man who has done them great injustice, and they only sent one at that." She gave him a flat stare.

Fletcher had been around for _years_…

But who was to say a dragonkin had not killed the real Fletcher and replaced him? Before now, Fletcher had always blended into the background.

She had to think about this. "Pardon me, I have things to do," said Katrana with a bow to Fordragon. White blinked at her, but did not hide her expression of relief.

"We have nothing to fear from dumb beasts," she heard Bolvar say as she strode to the library. "But I still don't like the idea of annoying them more than we already have. Maybe they really _are_ just animals…"

-o-O-o-

The pyroblasts connected with the training dummies, shaking them in their stands. They threatened to topple and splinter, but stood firm, flames failing to catch.

It seemed like only yesterday that Leonardo Withering had _not_ been murdered in this room, and Onyxia had first discovered her brother's indiscretion. He had to be planning something, she knew it, but… _what_, exactly?

Perhaps it was paranoia. Perhaps he could not have faith in Onyxia without sending eyes to watch her work. That was fair enough, after all, but it still unsettled her…

The door creaked open behind her. "You don't sound amused," said Bolvar. "I thought I heard something blow up from down the hallway."

The assembly that day had not gone well. Tariona White, once again, continued to push for yet more expeditions to be sent into the Steppes. No concrete decision had been made as of yet, but it infuriated Katrana just how many sycophantic supporters Tariona White had. It had felt like holding back a flood and, of course, Fletcher had failed to offer his assistance. Miserable _coward_.

"How can you tell?" said Katrana.

"I dunno," said Bolvar, with that annoyingly colloquial drawl he sometimes employed. His armour clinked as he leaned against the wall. Allowing the fireball she'd been summoning to die in her hands, she whirled around to face him, catching him in the act of observing her form. He went on as if she hadn't. "I don't think it has anything to do with the fact you look like you're about to murder someone. Taking it out in the training rooms, though? Good idea."

She wouldn't mind murdering White. That stupid woman was nothing but a thorn in Katrana's side.

But murder was drastic. An investigation would be launched. Mortals might be stupider than anything else that existed, but every now and then one took her by surprise...

... like the one beside her. Bolvar Fordragon was different to most mortals. He seemed to have more depth to him. He evidently disliked his job and preferred to live in a daydream not unlike Kair Emberfleet's, and was more interested in making peace than joining the wars nobles waged against one another. And his hobbies were startlingly intelligent.

The human hovered awkwardly nearby. Katrana was not quite sure why he had made an appearance, but she decided not to argue. Instead, she walked past him through the door and into the hallway.

But she paused at a window, gazing out into the grounds. The lake glittered in the sunset, casting orange light upon the surface of the water, and the grass stirred in a gentle, sleepy breeze which brought with it the scent of fire and charred wood from the Steppes over the mountain. She inhaled deeply.

Some years a dust storm from the Badlands or the Steppes blew in, as if the Titans smiled upon her and wished to reward her with a taste of home, wished to remind her of her purpose. They choked Stormwind in shrouds of dirt and sand, days of rare weather that brought a spring to her step.

Home. The months she'd spent there to lay her eggs years ago had not been long enough.

"I don't want to go to war anymore than you do," said Bolvar.

He'd followed her. He stepped beside her, following her gaze, watching the lake. "But I'm not sure about this dragon thing. Windsor's been attacked over and over again. That's not good no matter which way you look at it. I don't know what to do about it."

"So tell him to come home."

"I sent the message that it would be a good idea," said Bolvar. "But we must be wary. Perhaps Lady White is right. I still can't shake off the idea that perhaps he's onto something."

"We've already spoken about this. Don't you see how the Brotherhood started this?" Katrana did not raise her voice, her thoughts still half-drifting in directions of home. "They started this all because of greed, and when the dragons protect themselves from further poaching they see this as cause to start a war and slaughter an otherwise peaceful society? Would you punish a dog that bit a child if the child beat it with a stick first?"

Then she remembered she spoke to a human. Of _course_ a human would blame the dog.

"You of all people know that the best defence is a good offence," said Katrana. "Those who lash out greatest have the most to lose."

She had not quite intended the effect it had on him, but his eyes lifted, catching her with a thoughtful expression. She tore her own away, scowling.

"Well," he said, before he slipped away. "You've certainly given me something to think about."

-o-O-o-

"Winter's Veil is not for a few weeks yet," said Anduin. "Winter's Veil Day is further away still."

"It's never too early to get presents," said Bolvar. "Don't you want to get Myth a present?"

The Trade District was as busy as always. The four of them — five, if one included Jettion — moved through, blending in, but not enough to avoid the watchful gazes of the rogues hidden on the rooftops. Bolvar had bought Anduin some new clothes, rather drab things that looked more like a commoner's clothes more than any others Anduin had. The boy looked completely ordinary and forgettable. Maeqa remained in her leathers with her knives at her hips, but the place swarmed with mercenaries and she went unnoticed.

"Maybe you should get something for Crithto," said Sam, Amandine half-asleep on one hip. "That's the dog's name, isn't it? Myth adores him."

"I've tripped over that blasted dog more times than I can count," Maeqa growled.

"I should get something for Jettion, too," said Sam.

Anduin glanced to the whelp that fluttered about them. "You're not angry he tried to bite you yesterday?"

"Some animals don't like being petted," said Sam. "Besides, he seemed to listen when Lady Prestor scolded him for it."

Bolvar couldn't help but snicker at the memory. "The whelp listens to her more than Anduin, I swear. Why does he need a present?"

"Why not?" Sam challenged. "He'll feel left out if we don't get him one."

"He's just a dragon."

Sam clucked. "Dragons are intelligent! Not mindless creatures."

"They're violent beasts, Sam," said Bolvar. "And Lady Prestor said they're unintelligent."

"I spoke to the dwarf not long before I went into labour," Sam said. "The dwarf that turned into a dragonspawn, I mean. He asked me questions about child rearing and human culture and everything. I thought it was a dwarven thing. Maybe Lady Prestor should talk to one or two. I bet the dragons are smarter than the 'spawn are."

"That's kind of scary," said Anduin. "I think they'd _like_ her."

Bolvar smirked. "She's rather dragonlike, isn't she?" he remarked, but deep down he was troubled. They had intelligence? They were not simply dumb animals? A glimpse of a familiar man tore him from his thoughts. "'Ey, there's Carlos."

The man in question leaned against a wall, a thoughtful expression on his face, hands jammed into pockets. "Hello!" Anduin chirped as he approached. Maeqa stuck to the boy like glue. "How is everyone?"

Carlos blinked at him. "Your Highness," he said. Bolvar winced, but the Trade District was loud enough nobody appeared to hear him, passing around the small group like water around a rock. "Fancy seeing you out and about. My wife and Richard are quite well, thank you for asking." His eyes crept over each of them in turn. "Lady Prestor is not with you today?"

"No," said Bolvar, unable to quite suppress his smug expression. "She had work to do."

"Naturally." Carlos frowned.

"You're not selling apples today?" said Anduin.

Finally, the man smiled. "The harvest is over, I'm waiting for my wife." He tugged at his sleeves. "It's cold, isn't it?"

Bolvar glanced up at the rooftops. Satisfied, once he'd seen the glint of a few crossbow bolts and the uniforms of SI:7 half-hidden behind various chimneys, he turned to Maeqa. "Stick close to Anduin, I'm having a look around."

"Of _course_, Your Lordship," said Maeqa, her tone twanging with annoyance.

"And I _mean_ it," said Bolvar. But Anduin was safe. Even if the disguised boy ran off again, countless guards patrolled the rooftops and kept their eyes trained on the prince. He wouldn't get five yards without someone catching him.

"Let's get something for Lady Katrana." Sam followed Bolvar as he moved away, eyes scanning the various stalls, stuffed to capacity. The Winter's Veil market appeared to be starting. "Something Draconic, do you think? She really likes those dragons."

"And you appear to as well," said Bolvar, ignoring the hailing of various merchants. Avoiding eye contact was the key unless you wanted to be accosted.

"Well, yes," said Sam. "That dragonspawn was fascinating to talk to, the whole being-evil thing aside, you know." She paused. "Should I be with Anduin?"

"Relax, Sam," said Bolvar. "He's got a dozen people with their eyes on him. And besides, we're not going out of his sight."

"Oooh!" said Sam, appearing to drop her concerns as she buzzed to a stall. "Look at this!"

The stall glittered in the sunlight, little ornaments and statues catching the light. They were all dragons, Bolvar saw, little statuettes and boxes and crystals with wings and tails. A high elf stood behind, golden hair sitting on his shoulders, white robes rippling in the breeze. "Don't mind my lack of a sales pitch," said the elf. "I'm minding this stall for… a friend."

"Oh," said Sam, halfway through picking up a little draconic statuette. "Are you not open?"

"No, no, go ahead and browse," said the elf. "I know how to count out change well enough. What brings you here? Gifts?"

"Yup!" said Sam. "We're getting presents. There's someone I know who likes dragons." She smiled down at the goods. "You like dragons, too? Or, er, your friend?"

"My friend is quite fond of them," the elf's lips hitched in a faint smirk. "Incidentally, I'm… something of an expert. My name is Horan Bronzewing, I am a priest of the Light. I've had my fair share of encounters with dragons."

"Fair share?" Sam giggled. "I've never met one."

"You haven't been in the Steppes, have you?" said Bolvar with a frown. Perhaps Katrana would like something here, though the woman insisted on not celebrating Winter's Veil. Perhaps Bolvar would ignore her wishes this year. He always bought presents for friends.

"No, I steer clear of there," said Bronzewing. "I speak mostly of the Bronze dragons, you see a fair bit of them in Tanaris. That box there I picked up myself, actually, do you wish to have a look?"

"Curious," said Bolvar, picking up the object. Unfamiliar runes greeted him, etched in the sides. He let a note of scepticism creep into his tone. "It doesn't look worse for wear at all."

"I don't claim it has any spectacular story," Bronzewing smirked. "I just say it like it is."

"So you're a traveller?" Bolvar turned it over in his hands. Upon the lid lay a little carved drake, with far more detail than he'd seen on any of the other little statuettes so far.

"Not anymore," said Bronzewing. "I wish to settle down now."

"Maybe you can ask after work at the Keep," said Sam. "They had a bit of a shortage of priests last I checked."

"I shall enquire, thank you."

The lid flipped open on a hinge. A tinkling tune played. "A music box," Bolvar observed, peering at the tiny, whirring cogs and wheels. "I've never seen mechanics like _that_ before. Is that a lullaby?"

"Believed to be a draconic song sung to young whelps."

"Singing dragons?" Bolar laughed.

"Dragons are not the unintelligent beasts many people say they are," said Bronzewing. "They have cultures, too, with each Flight bearing a different one from the loving and sympathetic Rubies to the apathetic Bronzes."

Bolvar laughed. Everyone seemed to have an opinion of the creatures. He lowered his gaze to the jewelled box. Would that be the kind of thing Katrana liked? She seemed to appreciate pretty objects. More than once her arms had jingled with bracelets and her neck had glittered with an amulet. Perhaps she could keep jewellery in the box, there was enough space. Another object caught his eye, a metal bookmark with yet another dragon made out of gems at the top. This had to be expensive, but what the hell, he could afford it. "I'll get these, thank you."

To his surprise, Bronzewing didn't ask for much. Bolvar was positive the box, draconic or not, was worth at least twice of what Bronzewing requested. Sam didn't buy anything at the stall, though she pried a longing gaze away. Bolvar made a note to double back later for her gift.

"I think I'll get something for Anduin," said Sam. "Back soon." And with that, the nanny dashed off.

Bolvar looked at the music box in his hands, turning it over. He wondered if Katrana would be able to read the runes on the side, she always loved her dragons. He slipped it back carefully into the hessian bag he'd brought with him.

By chance he glimpsed a familiar head of hair. Beside a wall on the other side of the square, half obscured by a stall, stood Katrana. She frowned as if at a stray thought in her head. She wore her hair in a high ponytail, and oddly enough she wore a simple blouse and pants.

She looked beautiful no matter what she wore. But didn't she say she had work to do?

A small voice accosted him before he could call her name. "Uncle Bolvar!" said Anduin, bouncing up and down on the spot, Maeqa standing behind him with glazed-over eyes. "I found you a present, but you can't see it yet, _ha!_"

Bolvar smirked down at him. "You're wicked, you know that?" He glanced up again, but Kat was gone. "Did Kat pick something out with you?"

"She's here?" said Anduin, following Bolvar's gaze. "I don't see her."

"I suppose she's going civillian," said Bolvar, scowling. Why had she said she was working? Usually she was honest if she did not want his company! "Never mind, she doesn't seem to want company today. How about we get something for Sam before she comes back?" He glanced behind him. "There was something she was having a look at, incidentally." He looked back, but Katrana hadn't reappeared.

It stung more than he thought it would.

* * *

_**A/N:** Nine reviews? Whoa._

_Anon review replies!_

_**Etrg**: I edited the chapter a bit. I feel there was more I could do, but I couldn't see where or how, I'll have another look at it sometime later. Thanks for the review!_

**_Kai_**_: The real timeline is the canon one, yes. And lots of people keep asking after Sabel, I feel bad he hasn't shown up. Incidentally I always wondered how to help readers like a character that hasn't made an appearance, and I seem to have done it by accident! Lol. Thank you so much, your review made my day!_

**_JustMe_**_: She's been a bit hit or miss so far! Never fear, there will only be one or two scenes at most from her point of view until the end. Thanks._

**_Ariaelyne_**_: I can't write shorter stories anymore, lol. Thanks!_


	17. The Alchemist and the Jailer

_**A/N**: Since a certain character has become oddly popular despite the circumstances, I thought I'd give them a cameo._

_Also, if you reviewed and I missed responding, I'm really sorry! I forgot which ones I have and haven't responded to so if I wasn't sure I left it to avoid looking very silly and sending a second response. *Blushes*_

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

Chess on Fridays became a weekly thing, and Katrana's skill grew quickly. Bolvar hadn't yet lost, but his victories became tighter and harder. He made a point of not prying into her past in conversation again. If she wanted to say something, she'd say it.

That evening she appeared with another book under her arm. "What's that?" he said, closing the door behind her. "Nonfiction?" He smirked. "How dull."

"The Captain accosted me again," said Katrana. "It is highly likely that the book is terrible."

He snickered. "I think he fancies you."

"_Ugh_."

Amusement mingled with relief as he laughed. "It's good to see you again."

"Naturally, I cannot stop playing you until I sustain a demoralising winning streak."

"That's the spirit!"

She quirked a bemused brow, but said nothing as Bolvar dug out the chess pieces, the wooden figurines clinking against the board as her slim fingers brought them into formation. The silence pressed in. He strained for words to say that did not sound forced. "I'll take black tonight. This set was carved by my grandfather." He licked his lips. "That is, my mother's father, not…"

She stared at him, and his words died in his throat. "Hush," she said, the faintest note of amusement in her tone.

He acquiesced with a sigh. How could he learn more about her if she didn't _say_ anything? Katrana was a difficult woman to get to know, if not _the_ most difficult. She hovered out of reach. Every week when their games began she never failed to fall into silence.

But perhaps it was not such a bad thing. If he allowed it, it felt comforting. Still, the urge to speak bubbled.

It reminded him of his first girlfriend. He'd been sixteen years old, and she only a couple of years younger than him. He'd enjoyed reading in her company, curled up with an arm around her, but she always scowled and complained, _Why do you want to be around me if you're not going to talk to me?_

But that wasn't _it_, he recalled. He'd just wanted to be around her without talking, to know that someone beside him took pleasure from his presence.

Perhaps Kat was similar. She cared not for the opinions of others and remained quiet when she wanted to whether they liked it or not.

Talking said a lot about someone, he realised, but silence spoke louder.

He glanced at her. She sprawled in her chair like a kitten, one elbow on the arm of her chair, her long fingers tapping a rook, a thoughtful frown on her features as she inspected the board. When she caught his eye, he smiled at her. She claimed one of his bishops as if out of spite. He chuckled.

After that first failed relationship, he'd stopped bringing his books out of his room, always made himself talk around others when he would rather be quiet. The girl had long moved on, but her admonishments that he had been unreasonable remained. He felt a twinge of discomfort within him, but…

It was all him, wasn't it? _She_ looked comfortable, her beautiful eyes betraying the whirring processes inside her mind before she moved a pawn. She didn't smile, but she never smiled, did she? This was the closest she ever came to smiling. _She_ enjoyed silent company.

It was a rare woman that did. It was a rare _person_ who did not demand constant attention. She could be loud in court, but now she existed, floating in the quiet as if it were her sanctuary.

She felt safe here. There was no shield of chatter to hide her. She almost seemed vulnerable.

His discomfort melted away as they played on. He listened to what she said without words: the faint smirks that played across her full lips, the spark in those eyes when he thwarted her, the creases across her brow as she found herself at an impasse. When her hand brushed his as she retrieved her queen, his skin tingled in memory of contact.

He wanted their trance to last forever. It stretched like a cat through three games with barely a word to disrupt the rhythm, before Katrana leaned back in her chair and spoke at last. Her voice broke the spell only to weave new one. "I finished the books you loaned me. Thank you for that."

"What, all of them? _Again_?" Bolvar laughed.

"I do not sleep much," said Katrana, smirking. If only he could turn that into a smile…

"How about you take a look at my shelf?" he said. "Perhaps you might find something. Actually, I might know a couple of books that would take your interest."

They slid into a natural conversation with ease, not mourning the dead silence. Katrana spoke when she had something to say, she always _had_, Bolvar realised. At most assemblies she was a quiet presence, allowing others to speak unless nobody voiced her own opinion. It was when she spoke that she demanded attention. The way her voice carried betrayed her stillness.

She perked in interest as he showed her the first book of his favourite series. "Silly titles, I know," he said. "_Summer_, _Autumn_, _Winter_, by Gertrude Blackwell. _Spring_ may be out, I'm not sure, though I'm dying to read it. I should have checked while I was at the Trade District yesterday."

Faint memories of hurt burned, but Katrana said nothing about her own trip as she took the book, flipping over to the back. "Fascinating," she said. "Perhaps I may borrow this?"

"Sit down," said Bolvar, too quickly. "I'm not going to bed for a while yet. Want some tea? Hot chocolate?"

"Whatever you make for yourself, I will have also, thank you."

He smiled to see her curled up reading on one of the chaise lounges when he returned. She didn't look up as he placed her mug on a coaster and picked up a book. It was _good_ to get back to reading.

The silence returned, pleasurable, tranquil, punctuated only by the rhythm of whispering pages and the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. He could not quite step into the world captured within the pages in front of him, unable to resist glancing up at her occasionally.

After a while she seemed to lose interest in her book, staring at a page with her eyes unmoving. "I did have a brother," she said suddenly. "I remember now."

"You did?"

Her brow furrowed. "Yes, an older brother. A half-brother by my mother, who… was older than my father. His name was Sabel."

"That sounds familiar."

Katrana shook her head. She seemed to scrabble for words, as if patching up some invisible mistake. "You never met him," she gushed. "He never came to Lordaeron and we lost contact when I was young. He later perished in the Second War, I remember now." She scowled. "I know not why I mentioned it, forget it."

He _knew_ Sabel, though. The name tugged at the recesses of his memories. He saw a dark scowl, orange robes, vials of nasty green liquid that scorched his throat… "No, you're right, I didn't know him. I do recall a similar name, though."

He'd been sixteen, not long before the Second War. "I was seriously sick once, and the healers had no idea what to do with me, but he was staying at court at the time, he sort of came and went. After taking a quick look at me he managed to brew something that did the trick. It floored the priests. He was, um…" What had his name been? "Yes. Baron Sablemane, I think he was."

She frowned. "You met _him_?"

"Yes," said Bolvar. "He had terrible bedside manner, if I recall correctly. When I said how much my stomach hurt from being sick he told me to stop whining."

Kat almost smiled. _Almost_. "That sounds the kind of thing the Baron would have said."

A memory stirred.

"_It was a pleasure to speak to you once again, Lord Prestor."_

_It was Baron Sablemane's dull voice that had Bolvar skid to a stop and duck behind a wall. He hadn't forgotten that man's foul temper and the last thing he wanted to do was run into it again in a dark corridor. He'd trained late into the night with Arthas, Varian, Reggie and Leo, running laps around the courtyard and lifting weights. He peered around the corner, having faith in the shadows that masked him. It was past midnight, if someone caught him out past his curfew, he'd be in trouble._

_A girl and two men stood outside a door. Bolvar recognised the Prestors. Beside them stood a man of about the age of forty. Baron Sablemane's flamboyant, orange robes clashed with his cranky personality._

"_It's been productive," said Lord Prestor. The man's smiles usually lit up a room, but tonight a dark scowl marred his features. "I will see you at the arranged place, of course."_

"_Naturally."_

_It was a bit late for Kat to be out, Bolvar thought, as Lord Prestor disappeared and shut the door behind him, leaving his daughter with the Baron. But when did that ever stop her? She didn't even sound tired. "I am amazed you have failed to keel over at the idiocy present within court," she said._

_Sablemane turned his hard gaze on the child. Bolvar felt a twinge of fear on her behalf, but the girl met his stare with her own. "Kat, I feel I should inform you of something."_

"_I told you not to call me that!"_

"_What a coincidence." Sablemane's expression didn't change. "Because I have decided to call you something different. I thought it only fair I should let you know."_

_Kat hissed. "Don't you _dare_."_

_Sablemane smirked. "I have decided that since you are currently small, frail and vulnerable…"_

"_I will drag you to the mountains and rip out your eyes!" Kat clenched her fists._

"_Do keep threatening me, it is _highly_ amusing. In any case, from hereon out…"_

"_And then I shall tear you limb from limb and scatter what's left of you!"_

"_You shall be known as…"_

"_I will feed you to the crows, Sablemane, I will!"_

"… _little one_._"_

_With a feral screech Kat clawed at him, but the Baron rose an arm to block her attack, snickering. "Impressive," he drawled, inspecting the damage. "I do believe that almost hurt."_

_Kat growled. The Baron looked down at her. His uncharacteristic playfulness and smirk faded away back into the sober Sablemane Bolvar knew. "He is right, you _are_ too violent to fit in. Look at what you've done."_

_He held his arm out to show her. Something dark dripped from his arm onto the stone floor. "See this? Remember it. Remember how weak you truly are, how weak we _all_ are." The Baron wrapped his sleeve tightly around his arm. "You will not see me again for some time. You shall not wish me luck, of course, because you fail to understand the phrase 'When in Silvermoon.'"_

"_I can act like an elf without lowering myself."_

"_To be an elf _is_ to lower yourself. Titans be with you." The Baron gave her one last nod and swept past her._

_Bolvar flattened himself against the wall, but the Baron saw him anyway. The man paused for a moment, holding Bolvar's gaze with his hard stare. _

_Pure terror sank into his bones, sped his heart until it hammered inside his chest and his blood roared in his ears. The urge to flee grew overpowering, but his feet refused to move._

_Then as suddenly as it had appeared, the invisible malice peeled away and returned Bolvar's breath. The alchemist turned without a glitch in his expression and departed._

He'd bolted after that, hadn't he? "Baron Sablemane," he said. "Yes, I saw him about court a few times before your father disappeared. A rather… unpleasant man." _How weak you truly are._ From the look on Kat's face she had interpreted it as sage advice, but Bolvar shuddered at the implicit threat. Kat scowled.

The clock bonged.

"Ah, one o'clock," said Katrana, standing. "I must depart, then. I look forward to our next game, and thank you for the book. Though, I have one last request. Will I be needed at all over the weekend?"

"No, everything resumes on Monday as always," said Bolvar, rising.

"Then I shall leave the Keep for the weekend," said Katrana. "I have business out of the city to attend to."

But Katrana _never_ left the Keep! "Interesting stuff?"

"Indeed," said Katrana, but she offered no more than that. "Thank you for having me. Good night, Highlord."

"And you, Kat."

After the door closed, he peered at the clock in suspicion. Time had never melted away in Katrana's presence before.

He could get used to that.

-o-O-o-

_Why_ had she blurted that information out about Sabel? It was disgusting how easily Onyxia acclimated to the Highlord's presence. With that idle thought she fished in her pocket and brought out a small envelope. Katrana's brows furrowed as she read the contents, barely legible in the darkness of the corridor.

_Broodmother,_

_The Dragonmurk's safety threatens to wane._

_Though we take great pains to dispose of the half-eaten corpses the whelplings leave, the bodies have begun to wash up upon the shore all along the marsh, and the mortals have noticed. We have since begun cremating what we can at the Dragonmurk, but mortals minds are hard to shake from curiosity and we remain vigilant._

_The occasional Theramore patrol and passing mercenary, has come very close to the Dragonmurk. We keep tight leashes on the sentry whelplings and train them as best as we can to hide, but we fear that Theramore may expand far enough into the marsh that one day we may no longer be able to. Our Scalebane questions the wisdom of remaining. We do not run and hide like cowards, but perhaps a strategic retreat is called for._

_In the meantime, Romathis has sent drakes to us demanding eggs. Having received no orders as to relinquish them, I refused. If I have done you a disservice, forgive me. Please tell me if you have any orders regarding this._

_The dragonspawn children are doing well. The older ones are learning better how to hunt, how to take care of dragon eggs, and the coming of age of many approaches._

_Awaiting orders,_

_Ebonaria_

Romathis was overdue for a visit. "I've given you all the eggs you need, imbecile," Katrana muttered under her breath. "Why do you need more?"

At that moment a door ahead of Katrana creaked open. She stopped. Light spilled into the hallway as Tariona White's laugh drifted to her. "Goodnight, Lord Fletcher," said Lady White. "We shall talk again later."

The door closed behind her. Lady White stopped in her tracks.

"Good evening," said Katrana. "Rather late to be skulking around the castle, don't you think?" She folded the letter in her hands, depositing it in her pocket. "Have you been doing something most would not approve of, have you? No matter, you are hardly alone in that."

"Skulking?" said White. "I daresay out of the two of us you're skulking more than I am. Prowling the halls at night, are we?"

"Is it a crime to take a walk at night?"

"No, which is why I'm wondering my doing so is suddenly one."

What was Fletcher planning? He and White had never been on familiar terms before. "It is not," said Katrana. "Go about your business. But be careful, if you continue to have illicit meetings in the middle of the night people may think you are up to something."

The faintest guilty wince crossed Lady White's face, before she wiped it away. "You never cease to amaze me with your paranoia," she said. She strode past Katrana with her chin held high.

Romathis definitely needed to be spoken to. Onyxia would depart before dawn.

For now, she would read the night away. Only to educate herself, of course, as it provided an insight into the human mind.

-o-O-o-

Katrana pried herself from the pages of _Winter_ at seven in the morning, an hour after she'd wanted to start. After showering and donning commoner clothes, she wrapped her cloak about her in the frigid morning air and departed.

To her surprise, Fordragon caught her as she stepped into the courtyard, a bow in his hand. At his feet sat Myth's little yapping dog, whose breed Katrana could not recall, and Anduin and Myth stood by a nearby rose bush observing some insect or other their bodies shielded.

It reminded her of a scene long ago in Lordaeron, when Varian and Arthas prowled the palace gardens beside a new pond and she'd met the Highlord for the first time...

She shook off the memory.

"You're not taking a horse?" was Bolvar's choice of greeting.

Taking a horse would cut the time she had to spend in human form, but ultimately Katrana would be forced to leave the poor creature tied to a tree and eaten by wolves. "I have already made travel arrangements," said Katrana.

"If you say so," Bolvar smiled at her. "Have a good trip and I'll see you when you get back. I'm about to take the little ones to the archery range."

How odd. The human had seemed to have been waiting for her, because he gave her another smile and a nod and called the children. The three of them departed in the direction of the training squares. Katrana recalled how guilty the human had felt over not spending enough time with his friend's young.

Dwarves seemed to never rest even on weekends, clattering well into their work day when Katrana passed their district. Old Town was sleepier, but the Trade District bustled as it always did with the Saturday morning markets. Still, Katrana kept her pace brisk and did not allow herself to be side tracked.

Elwynn was the gentle presence it always was, a stark contrast to the Steppes. Where the Steppes lacked in vegetation, Elwynn made up for in leaps and bounds. As Katrana left the path and cut through fields and farms, the hills and mountains bordering the Steppes grew ever closer. The wildlife avoided her. The aura of a dragon was easy to control, but in the forest she had no need to, letting it stretch throughout the trees. The wolves and spiders sensed it. They knew a dragon was about.

The mid point she sought was a small depression into the earth, a bowl surrounded by peaks and hills that were bare of anything but rocks and earth. From here, Katrana swept her gaze across the surrounding hills, their rocks stripped bare of plants and trees.

No one could see her unless they climbed those hills, and she would catch sight of them if they did. She sniffed the air. Nothing.

Her body ached in anticipation.

She arched her back and leaned on the balls of her feet, stretching her arms above her head. Her skin drank in the sunlight as the stiffness of her muscles wore away. In the middle of the bowl she fanned her fingers, palms out, ready.

It had been a long time.

It was as if her body had willed itself to remain in the fragile shape of a human, yearning for her old form as an addict yearned for deathweed. In a human body, a dragon could summon their senses again. Lift their body temperature. Cast out senses like nets. Bring the dragon into the human.

But it was only a shadow.

Her spine contorted, claws split her fingers and wings erupted from her back. Staggering weight forced her to all fours as scaled pillars caught her, palms digging into the dirt. Blinding pain screeched in her head as her horns grew.

And then the movement stopped. Her tail swept the dirt behind her. Strong muscles crouched beneath her. Her eyes picked out every detail of the hills around her down to the last crack and blade of stubborn grass, details which she'd been blind to as a human. Far away she heard the voices of humans. The perpetual feeling of coldness she carried fled in the face of the warmth of her dragon form.

She let out a puff of flame, stretched her wings and stepped about, reminding her body how to move like a dragon. The longer she spent as a human, the harder this part was, and she looked like a tottering whelp that threatened to fall over. Her wings flapped, billowing air around her.

The flight muscles atrophied quickly if not used, but transformation halted growth and decay in its tracks. As always, her massive form struggled against gravity, but before long she lifted herself from the ground and joined the sky.

She was _Onyxia_ again. She was almost home.

She threaded her way north through mountains that flattened into scorched earth and hot air. Ahead, Blackrock Mountain jutted into the sky. Delicious heat enfolded her, evaporating the humidity, the magma pools bubbling and seething beneath her the deeper she soared into the Steppes. She roared for good measure.

She was back.

Jettion's tiny wings could only carry him so fast. For Onyxia, the journey took little time, her keen eyes catching the shelf within the mountain. The mortals had different names for it — Nefarian's Lair, Nefarian's Eyrie, Nefarian's Seat…

She landed on the empty tiles. Habit prompted her to transform into Prestor, but Onyxia resisted the impulse. The passages within were big enough for her to walk in, if too tight to fly, and the goblins were mortal and susceptible to mistake her for a hostile intruder.

She stretched her neck and roared.

Then she waited, curling her tail around her.

After many minutes of waiting, two drakonids found her, hulking on powerful back legs. Pink scales shimmered on their body. The Chromatic experiment went well, Onyxia could see.

"Lord Romathis awaits you," a drakonid hissed. Onyxia allowed the diminutive mockeries of dragonkind to lead her through the passages that sloped into the mountain.

Romathis _had_ been working hard. The placed crawled with Chromatics, suspended in green fluid like enormous embryos or fluttering about as whelplings. The occasional pink drake sank to its forelegs in respect to Onyxia. Her heavy footsteps echoed against the tall, golden walls.

The drakonids escorted her to one of the many dungeons in Blackwing Lair. In front of a cell, massive bars stretching to a high ceiling, stood a human man with dark skin and hair. "That fight was pathetic," Onyxia heard him murmur. "Do enjoy your stay as best as you can in crippling agony. Think of it as what you deserve for losing. It could have been a lot worse."

With her host in the form of a mortal, draconic courtesy dictated that Onyxia mimic him. Not quite ready to assume the guise of Lady Prestor again, Onyxia chose her second favourite disguise, that of a young, dark-skinned woman. As she shifted, clothing long ago banished to the Nether reappeared on her body. The hem of her long black dress brushed the ground, and a string of ribbon curled in her hair, allowing long, silken locks to spill down her back. "Romathis."

"Onyxia," said the guise of Lord Victor Nefarius, turning to her. "I did not expect your arrival, having been given so little notice."

Her voice, neither Katrana's nor Onyxia's, sounded strange to her ears. "What is this?"

Within the cell lay a Red dragon on its side. The iron scent of blood hung in the air, filling her nostrils and staining her tongue. Goblins bustled around the vulnerable form, golden light illuminating their fingers, green wrinkles furrowing their little brows.

"His name is Vaelastrasz," said Romathis. "Would you believe he simply marched in here, thinking for all the world that he could simply kill me and then get on with his life?"

"He lost, naturally, but I fail to understand why you allowed him to live." Onyxia looked at Romathis sideways. "If he escapes, then the Red Dragonflight will know of your business here."

"Which is why he will not be escaping," said Romathis. "I believe I can… influence him. I sensed dark magic growing within him, slower than a glacier's advance, but given a little time I believe I can accelerate the process and bring him to our side."

Onyxia scowled. "You should have killed him. The last thing we need is the Red dragonflight on our backs again."

"They are merely biding their time," said Romathis. "He came alone, meaning nobody else sees the purpose in attacking us. As it is, the Reds are still recovering from the happenings of the Second War."

Alexstrasza had been captured in the Second War, forced to lay eggs. What hatched had been accelerated in age by magic and used as mounts for the orcs. It was for the good of the Black Dragonflight, of course. The orcs came in useful to fight the other dragons, for what little use they did have against beings many times their size, which was why the drakes had been necessary. "And that battle was foolish. Every time we draw the attention of the other Flights yet again we risk being wiped out. The Red Dragonflight outnumber us ten to one alone. Even the Blues have more number than we do."

"Let me handle the immortals," said Romathis. "Your job is in Stormwind."

Indeed, it was, and that was why Onyxia's job was so important. It was only a matter of time before the other Flights attacked, and the last thing the Black Dragonflight needed was the mortals assisting their would-be killers.

"The Flights will notice when we attack Stormwind," said Onyxia.

"They care less for mortals than we do," said Romathis.

"That brings me to the point of my visit," said Onyxia. "You have been harassing my Brood for my eggs."

"And?"

"You have no right to do so. I gave you the eggs you requested, and that is all I am giving to you."

Romathis sneered. "Might I remind you of your own job? Keep the mortals away from the Steppes, and yet you are doing terribly."

"Windsor was merely a trickle - "

" - a trickle that could herald the arrival of a flood," said Romathis. "No. For my experiments to be completed quickly, I need more eggs, I need to prepare for an eventuality that the mortals may choose to attack first and that you would simply stand by and let them. Whilst you are surrounded by the luxuries of mortals, doing nothing but sitting around talking with politicians, _I_ am doing the real work."

"_Real work?_" Onyxia snarled. "You are not within the enemy's capital city. _You_ are not doing unthinkable, disgusting things all for the sake of your children. _You_ are surrounded by your own kind."

Romathis's eyes narrowed into slits. "You failed. One human is one too many within the Steppes. Windsor's party was slaughtered, but Windsor was captured by Dark Irons. It is only a matter of time before more come. _You_ aren't human enough. I know what you are like. You are awful at imitating human culture, at being them, at earning their approval. Father was skilled at it, but it appears such skill is not hereditary. Name a single thing you have done since you removed Varian Wrynn from the throne."

"Varian's removal was the final part of the plan. Stormwind is ready for the Chromatic Flight to take it, and all my job currently consists of is keeping things running as they should be. There is no more I need to do except maintain control," said Onyxia.

"And yet, politicians despise your very presence and conspire to remove you from power."

The memory of Tariona White's face flashed across Onyxia's mind. "And I don't suppose you would know something about that?"

Romathis smirked. "Evenian is there to keep you on your toes, to keep an eye on you for me. And so he tells me, you have grown complacent."

Onyxia swallowed her anger at the stinging insult. "Stephen Fletcher."

"Is that what he calls himself?" Romathis drawled. "Really, he's been down there for years, and you failed to notice?"

"And what is the meaning of putting a spy in the Keep?" said Onyxia.

"Onyxia," said Romathis. His voice was calmer than before, and Onyxia bit her tongue, allowing the whelp to speak. "The fact is, more preparation has to be made. If there is resistance, Evenian will allow it to put itself into a vulnerable position and be taken out as necessary."

"And I was not informed of this... why?"

"You have not proven yourself trustworthy."

"_Trustworthy?_"

"Who knows what the humans may have done to you in the early days?" said Romathis. "No matter, you know now. In any case, I believe Tariona White is the name of one of the nobles? She would inherit the title of Regent Lady if something should, ah, happen to Highlord Fordragon?"

Onyxia hissed. "Indeed."

"And you are second in line," said Romathis. "So, given that, why is she still alive?"

"Granted that Wrynn disappeared, it would be suspicious — "

"You're an Obsidian dragon," sneered Romathis. "You have creativity, use it. Which begs the question, why did you not simply kill Wrynn? Erasing his memories, turning him loose, that is all very elaborate for a job that required only the stopping of a heart. You cannot tell me that his body would be impossible to hide, either. Why?"

"I did not allow Varian to be killed because he may yet come in useful one day."

"So you say," Romathis drawled. "As you wish. Allow me to gift Evenian to you. He is a good Scalebane, takes initiative, and is highly intelligence for a mere dragonspawn. He will pick holes in your plan for you to patch up, he will give you challenges in order to keep you on your feet. After all, was that not what Sabellian did for you?"

That was a surprise. Romathis usually did not speak Sabellian's name without spitting. Onyxia slowly looked at her brother, who stared through the bars as if bored. "What does it matter what Sabellian did for me?" Onyxia said. "He's dead and gone."

"And yet, rumour has it you find yourself at a loss without him."

"Sabellian was a fool who deserved to die," said Onyxia. "He failed to prevent the closing of the Dark Portal, he failed to get himself and his Brood out of there when the Gronn attacked. Sabellian is dead, mark my words. If anything, the Titans have blessed us by allowing a weak link to die out."

But that was what it came down to, was it not? For millenia, the Dragonflight had seen Sabellian as a weakness, but he had always survived. Sabellian had never been weak. Death, after all, captured only the weak of the immortal races.

Sometimes, Onyxia believed Sabel was alive. He would not allow death to take him so easily. But whether Sabellian was alive or not, believing either way was useless. The Dark Portal was closed and would never open again, and who knew what the alien world of Draenor had done to them if they had lived? Dragons had survived millenia on Azeroth because they knew the world by heart, but Draenor was an entirely different beast.

"Fine," said Onyxia. "Stormwind is quite dull. Mortals are stupid, after all. Perhaps having another Scalebane to speak to that holds more intelligence than Omnarion shall yield me entertainment."

"Omnarion was specially trained to interact with humans," said Romathis. "It does not surprise me to hear he is less than bright." He paused. "The experiments, my sister, still have a long way to go before we are ready."

"I have spent thirty years as a human. How much longer will it _take_?"

"We have all the time in the world," said Romathis. "But it will take long enough. For now, perhaps accompany me on a hunt. I daresay it would do you good to stretch your wings and allow your body to remember what it truly is."

-o-O-o-

Work did not stop simply because of the weekend. After Bolvar spent the morning fishing with the boys he withdrew into his study, leaving Samantha Inkweaver with two boys in her care clamouring to go to the library.

Most people would probably _kill_ for their children to beg to go to the library.

Sam allowed the children to lead her. In a sling around her body nestled Amandine, sound asleep. Her shoulder ached.

To her relief, neither Tovald nor Sheaf, two of the librarians, seemed to mind Crithto much. The little dog tore around the library without breaking anything, a skill that the librarians admired. Perhaps it came from living in a house where the towers of books were high enough they could kill you, Sam reflected, remembering what Myth had told her about his old house.

"Dad said we're actually using the book shelves in our new house, and it has to stay that way," the boy had said.

"You don't look like you believe that will last."

"... It won't."

At least Kair didn't seem to bring bad habits to work. All the books had a place in the Royal Library, safely tucked next to each other like peas in pods. As the boys scattered, Maeqa the bodyguard tailing them and the dog weaving around their feet, Sam sank gratefully into an armchair. A handful of other people sprawled themselves over chaises or armchairs. The public did not come to the library often, but there was always a few who could not resist the siren song of free books.

"Sam," said a light voice. "How good it is to see you. You are at work already?"

Sam looked up upon hearing Kair's voice. She smiled at him, keeping the baby cradled to her. She'd met the night elf only once before in the library. "It's not really work," she said. "All I have to do is make sure Anduin doesn't get himself into trouble. Maeqa makes it easier."

"And yet, did the Highlord not grant you more time off for the little one?"

She smiled down at the child resting against her deep in sleep. "I needed to get back to things," she said. "I can still take care of her when I'm with Anduin, anyway. I needed to keep busy. I'm often tired and I don't think I'll be attending the Winter's Veil Ball on New Year's Eve, but I'm fine."

Kair frowned. "That would be a shame."

"Are you going?"

"For a couple of hours, however I will not stay the entire night." Kair sat opposite her. "I can spare a few minutes to talk. I do encourage you to go. When you have a little one, it is good to take time off for yourself. I am certain a care giver can be found and arranged."

"Truthfully, if someone offered to take care of her I'd sleep through the whole thing. Dances are far from my mind."

"Are you certain?"

"Eh. Maybe I'll come for a _few_ minutes," she said. "Well. From what Myth has told me, I guess you'd know about being a single parent."

"Indeed, though Myth was significantly older before his mother died," said Kair. It was admirable, how he could speak of it without a twinge of pain. Perhaps he buried it deep inside. Though given how much of a dreamer the man was, Sam wouldn't have been surprised if it hadn't truly hit him that his mate was dead. "But he is still young enough to cause enough trouble. Do tell me if there is anything I can do for you, Sam. We may not know each other well enough yet, but do understand you can rely on me. From what I hear, you do have it rough."

Sam deflated. "Ah. More rumours."

"All rumours have a grain of truth to them."

"Rest assured, I'm not a whore who deserves to die."

"I doubt that is the case," Kair smiled. "Humans can be cruel, but I have not heard a bad word about you yet. Most of the words I heard about you were voices of concern and worry for treatment you suffered."

A tired spark of anger flickered within Sam. "Huh. _Really_? So where the _hell_ were they when I was dealing with Norris?"

"People often do lack the courage to do what matters," said Kair.

"That's no excuse — "

"No," said Kair, to her surprise. "It is not. I wish I were here. I would have spoken up in your behalf."

_How easy it is to say as such,_ thought Sam. "Yeah," she said, unable to hide her scepticism.

The elf looked at her thoughtfully. "I merely wish to offer my support." And then he gave that dreamy little smile of his. "I mean not to patronise you. Do forgive me if my opinion is unwanted. I mean not to pry. But I could not stand idly by."

Sam forced a smile. "Thank you. You and Lady Prestor are the only ones who've been really kind to me — well." She glanced over her shoulder. The two boys were nowhere in sight, though Crithto appeared to be sniffing the shoe of a gnome almost as small as he was. "The boys have been as well, but they're... boys."

"They will grow into kind men," said Kair.

"I shouldn't be ungrateful," said Sam. "Things are better than they used to be." Then she blurted out, "I used to be a whore. I picked pockets as a kid, and when you're a girl on the streets and you're old enough..." She sighed. "I viewed Norris as my salvation. He brought me off the streets, got me a job, but in the end he was controlling. Only helped me to use it to his own advantage, and when Amandine came into the picture... things are easier than they were then, I shouldn't be ungrateful."

"But that does not mean they are easy yet," said Kair. "With a little one, you have a long, hard path ahead of you, especially as the little one has no father. Do not fear acknowledging the difficulty of a situation, but do no more than that. Despair may seduce you, but it will never lead you to a good path."

"I have safety," said Sam. "I have this job. I'll do it right. I don't want to lose it."

"And you shall not if you do it well," Kair smiled. "And I think you are. Myth speaks highly of you."

He rose. "I must get back to work," said Kair. "Do come by my home for tea sometime."

"I... thanks," said Sam, smiling weakly.

Kair gazed at the baby in her arms. "I missed out on Myth's young childhood, because I was in the Emerald Dream," said Kair thoughtfully. "It is not uncommon for druids to, but I do regret it."

"Don't worry about the past," Sam murmured, wishing she could heed her own advice. "And forget about the future. You have a present to indulge in."

"As do you," said Kair. He smiled. "Your young grow faster than ours do. Before you know it, she will be gone from your nest."

* * *

**_Anon Review Reply:_**

_**JustMe:** I hope this chapter cleared up the character thing and jogged the memory. It's been... yeek, it's been almost two months since I restarted this! Thanks for the review!_


	18. A River in Egypt

**_A/N:_**_ Anyone else think that Sharon Den Adel looks a lot like Katrana Prestor? I don't picture her as looking like that, but the similarity's uncanny and they now sound the same in my head. Good luck getting Prestor to sing, though._

_Thanks to all those who reviewed. Yay._

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

* * *

While the idea of transforming into a human after a glorious weekend of being herself again was loathsome, at least she wouldn't have to continue deny Romathis eggs. And she would not have to resume Katrana Prestor's form for a few more hours yet. She walked into the Blue Recluse on the other side of the city Sunday evening in the form of the human who'd spoken to Victor Nefarius.

The Suicide Squad and the newest Scalebane at her disposal, Evenian, alerted upon her return, awaited her within. (Just how big were the dragonspawn forces in Blackrock that Romathis had several of them?) They all took forms different to their usual one, but Onyxia recognised the group of ten dark-haired men and women as soon as she walked in. She weaved her way through the patrons of the busy tavern and seated herself at the last empty chair.

"Good evening, my lady," said Adam Rivers' voice, coming out of the mouth of a pale-skinned man that sat beside her. "Welcome to a supposed family reunion."

"We _do_ look similar," said Onyxia, inspecting her tablemates. When a pair of identical dragonspawn at the table grinned at each other and high-fived, she flinched.

"It looks real, doesn't it?" said Omnarion. "They will act their parts and provide distraction as we speak. We attract too many stares as it is, but thankfully, they will draw all of them."

"Clever." Onyxia mentally counted all those present. "Ten. Eleven, including myself, we have a number extra." She glanced to her other side. A man with long hair to his shoulders sat regarding her with intelligent eyes, and Onyxia recognised Fletcher's features, if softened and distorted, immediately. "Ah, Evenian. I am pleased you have deigned to join us, though I must comment on your poor skill as a shape shifter."

"Do forgive me," said Evenian. At least his voice had changed a little, which was more than could be said for Omnarion's. "I do not recognise you at all except by the manner you carry yourself."

"No matter," said Omnarion. "His Lordship Victor Nefarius wishes Lady White dead, then?"

Onyxia nodded. "Apparently I have not done enough for the ingrate."

"We can do that," said Evenian. "As it happens, I have been pondering the idea and taking measures in the event we need to dispose of her."

"And that would be why I have seen her associating with you at late hours."

"Indeed," Evenian smirked. "I do have a proposal to make. White has a deep-seated hatred of Lady Prestor, and feels threatened by the fact that Lady Prestor overrides her and gets her way more often in spite of perceived rank. White was quick to agree to… extreme measures… of dealing with this."

"She wants me dead, then."

"Indeed. Prestor has earned herself many enemies within the court." Evenian sat back. "Lady White has been led to believe that I share this hatred. Forgive me for speaking against you, but it was vital to gain her trust quickly after I have appeared to support you for so long. Thankfully, humans are disgustingly easy to manipulate and by simply fanning the flames of her frustration and pretending to share them I was able to present myself as trustworthy. My idea…" He leaned forward again, chin resting on the palm of one propped-up arm. "Is that we stage a false attempt on your life and falsify evidence — let's say we plant a letter from a fake assassin that will implicate her. She will be arrested and out of the way, and then you will be first in line for Regency." He clasped his hands on the table.

"Then, much later, we will remove him as well," said Omnarion.

"I do not think we shall need to do that," said Onyxia. "He is easy to manipulate."

"We will see," said Evenian. "Anything done too soon after her incarceration will be suspicious. There are still suspicions about Varian's disappearance, as it is."

"The Winter Veil Ball, on the eve of the new year," said Onyxia. "That will be a quite public method of doing this."

"People often go into the gardens during the dancing," said Omnarion. "The magelights will work in our favour. We head up onto the roof and we'll be hidden behind them."

Onyxia drummed her nails on the table. "We will have to be careful of the SI:7 agents guarding the roof, of course, but the gardens would be the best place to do it. Have a member of the Suicide Squad up there, send an arrow close enough to me the implication is obvious, then flee."

"I should go up there," said Omnarion. "I'll take Atramentia with me. We'll incapacitate the agents there and go ahead."

"Don't take your normal forms," said Onyxia. "And… Atramentia?"

"Of course not, we'll come as we are tonight," said Omnarion. "Atramentia — ah, pardon. You know her as Maria Winters."

The name tugged at Onyxia's memories. "Is she not the one who could not defeat Reginald Windsor despite his fatigue?"

"Her strength is sneaking about, not brute strength and confrontation," said Omnarion. He sipped from the mug in front of him as the younger-looking dragonspawn around them started a game of dice. Onyxia was sure that such games were not supposed to be loud, but the diversion tactics were working because not a single person looked at her and the Scalebanes beside her.

"I am not certain a simple letter would be good enough," said Onyxia. "Letters are easy to plant. I am her enemy within court. It would be far too easy for her to accuse me."

"This is where I come in," said Evenian. "And you and Fordragon."

"Go on?"

"I meet with her on a particular night," said Evenian. "Along with Atramentia, let's say Winter's Veil night. We make negotiations, hammer out the entire would-be assassination. Meanwhile, you be sure to spend that night in Fordragon's company, perhaps talking politics or discussing proposals and work. Make sure the two of you are alone. You alter Fordragon's memory afterwards with your amulet to have me present."

"And then…?" Would the amulet even work?

"When the false letter is discovered, she will immediately realise what I've done," said Evenian. "So she will attempt to drag me down with her, as good as confessing her part in it as she points fingers at me. But with Fordragon backing up my alibi, she will have just condemned herself."

"_Very_ clever," said Onyxia. "But the amulet may not work. Diminishing returns has reared its head as of late."

"Perhaps you can charge it with your staff," said Omnarion. "I know it's powerful."

_That_ was a thought. Her staff had in it enough power to teleport Onyxia in her draconic body all the way to the Wyrmbog in case of emergency, as the flight to Kalimdor took an entire week, and acted as an enormous portal rune. It had enough extra to spare to power the amulet as Omnarion suggested. "You are correct, but I would have to use it sparingly." The last thing she needed was for diminishing returns to grow an even stronger resistance, much like an increased dosage of medicine. "An intelligent suggestion."

They spoke and schemed long into the night. Afterwards, the grass of the Mage Quarter crunched underneath her feet. The clouds, black in the night sky, cast veils over the stars. She walked alone, the December air frigid against her arms. She missed the Steppes and their heat already.

Distracting Fordragon for an evening would be easy enough. Even on Winter's Veil night it would be a simple matter of barging in and perhaps ranting over something or other all night. Perhaps White. He would be unhappy, but he never stood up to her. Planting Fletcher in his memory as a silent witness would be simple, provided the staff worked as Omnarion hypothesised. But she had to make sure nobody else would be present — the alibi had to be a real one, even if certain details were faked.

At least there would be chess again that Friday. Oddly enough, it was an enjoyable, intelligent game, and when Bolvar relaxed in Katrana's presence he almost felt like _company_. There was something about the enthusiasm with which he dug up books for Katrana to read that was almost endearing. Evidently he felt some camaraderie towards her already, since he was so eager to please her.

And judging by her responses to him, she found getting into character easier than she'd anticipated.

-o-O-o-

Katrana Prestor returned on Sunday night, Bolvar found out, but he didn't see her until Monday morning in the assembly hall as nobles squabbled over taxes and Lady White and Prestor tore at each other's throats to the amusement of all. For what little good it did him, as his week was so crammed full he barely had a spare moment to speak to her. If he wasn't in the assembly hall, he had paperwork. If he didn't have paperwork, he had sparring sessions with the Squad. If he wasn't training with the Squad, he shot targets with Anduin and Myth. If he wasn't doing _that_, he worried over Reggie.

Because since the Dragonbane herb was brought to Stormwind and nursed back to health, he hadn't heard a peep from the Steppes. Reginald was supposed to be out of there weeks ago, but his entire party had gone silent. Leo pushed for investigation, but Bolvar had forbidden it. Prestor had been right all along, the dragons had to be left alone. Encroaching on a predator's land was a stupid idea. He should never have allowed Reg to go.

The guards felt his loss, too. Many of the older guards were veterans in the Second War, and remembered Reginald's heroics. He'd had saved lives more than once.

The three of them — Reginald, Leo, Bolvar — had been tight-knit. Their friendships had been so deep that they fell into natural lulls that never distanced them. Reg and Bolvar had barely spoken to Leo during the Second War, but when it was over it was as if they'd never been apart. And after Varian disappeared, Leo and Reginald drifted away from Bolvar as politics caught up with him. It happened.

But now he wished, more than anything, that he hadn't let it.

For how little of a threat Katrana insisted the territorial dragons were, they strained the decades-old friendship between him and Leo that seemed to wither away underneath them like Reginald's known whereabouts. More than anything, Bolvar wished Reginald would come back. That he would reappear out of nowhere, alive and well, that the guards of Stormwind would greet him once again with the reverence they always had.

At least evenings gave Bolvar respite. Rather than think about Reggie he borrowed books from the library, often at Kair's personal recommendation, and buried himself in other worlds. Kat was right, it was escapism. Beautiful, lovely escapism. It kept him from stressing out or wallowing in guilt, so why the hell not?

One particular evening he stumbled across Kat again. Kat in herself was a pleasant distraction, a woman who allowed him to be himself. Their reading hobby deepened their own friendship.

Bolvar just hoped it wasn't at the expense of his own with Leo.

On this particular evening, when he found her her head snapped up with an expression reminiscent of a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "Highlord," she said smoothly. "Good evening."

"You seem to be enjoying your books," said Bolvar, unable to prevent his smug grin.

"Of course not," said Kat as if by reflex, a thick tome open in her arms and aiming a scowl at him before she realised what she said. "That… is," she said slowly, keeping her chin up. Of course, only _Kat_ could maintain her pride and dignity after blurting something out like that. "I am undertaking…" The pause stretched long enough to be comical. "… Research."

She glared at him as if daring him to laugh.

Which he did.

"Research," he grinned at her when he was done. "_Right_. And how is this _research_ faring, eh?"

Her eyes narrowed further, which only made him laugh harder. "Don't taunt me," she spat.

She once seemed like such a feral Kat, but now her irritation amused him. "Are you always so quick to deny everything?"

"Of course not."

He paused for a beat to allow her words to sink in, then broke down into laughter. Her face flushed with anger. "I'm sorry," he said, trying to muffle himself. "I can't help how fun it is to tease you."

"You are _taunting_ me." She hissed.

"Well, on the bright side," Bolvar lowered his voice when a noble peered around the bookshelves in curiosity, and subsequently ducked away when she caught Bolvar's eye. "Maybe it'll kill the rumours going around about us."

Katrana snorted, returning her glance to the page in front of her, her blush of fury fading. "Oh yes, I heard of _those_," she drawled. "The captain enjoys reminding me of them. I almost hate to disappoint them."

He couldn't help it. "Huh, you do, do you?"

Katrana paused, looked skywards, and sighed.

"Why don't you sit down before you hurt yourself, Kat?" Bolvar crossed his arms and leaned against the shelf, smirking.

"I am hardly…" The woman rolled her eyes as she trailed off, slamming her book shut and sticking it back in the shelf. "You are distracting me. Please cease doing so."

"Oh, is _that_ why you're having such difficulty with words?"

Immediately, he wished he hadn't said it. "Sorry," he said, sobering. He lowered his voice, too aware of the others in the library. "I was just coming by to tell you that me and the little ones are going by the lake again tomorrow morning to fish. You're welcome to come if you want."

Still annoyed, Kat said, "And why would _I_ have any interest in fishing?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek. Sometimes, he was reminded of exactly why Katrana was unpopular within court. When he didn't answer she looked at him and frowned. "I shall bring a book, then," she said. Her eyes narrowed with a smirk. "And watch and laugh as you proceed to catch _nothing_."

Ah, so she _did_ have a playful streak. He smiled. "Hey, Anduin's gotten good at catching fish."

"And you?"

"… Eh."

"I thought as much." Smug, she pulled another book from the shelf. Her fingers were long and slim and beautiful against the black cover, her nails manicured. He wondered how soft her skin was, or if he could even feel it through the callouses on his palms and fingers. Sparring sessions with the Suicide Squad and the guards had toughened his skin. Her cold eyes glanced over the book at him. "You're no fisher. You're a dreamer, you always were."

"Is it that noticeable?"

"If one learns to look hard enough."

_You've been looking, have you?_ He thought, but instead he said, "You're the only one who knows how much I stick my nose in a book these days. And it's thanks to you, anyway."

"How so?" she said idly, pages whispering as she turned them.

"You got me reading again," he said with a smile. He pushed away from the shelf. "I'll see you later, then."

Kat didn't even look up from her book. "Good night, Highlord."

-o-O-o-

A hidden stairwell within the palace courtyard took the small band to the grassy hills below, with the lake sparkling in the gentle dawn light. With Crithto the little dog jumping up and barking to add to the chaos, Anduin and Myth tore across the grass. Jettion puffed as he watched Crithto chase after them.

"I can almost see the dust they're leaving," Bolvar mused to himself.

Chill hung in the air. Winter lurked close, and the holiday would start within the week, though Winter's Veil Day was still a while away yet. Winter's Veil took place over a couple of weeks, and over those two weeks family would visit one another, and friends, and exchange gifts. As the world grew smaller with teleportation and faster travel and the goblins got involved, the holiday threatened to condense into a single day. The goblins gave gifts only on the twenty fifth, and the other races had begun to grow into the habit of giving presents to immediate family on that specific day. Bolvar was fine with that, but hoped the holiday itself would never shrink shorter than two and a half weeks. Two and a half _blessed_ weeks of no parliament, no assemblies, no duties until the Winter's Veil Ball...

Bolvar had been hanging out for Winter's Veil since King Varian disappeared.

Katrana Prestor joined them later in the morning, with a book tucked under her arm, her appearance causing Bolvar to grin like a fool. It grew increasingly difficult to find her without a tome on hand, and Bolvar wondered if she hadn't been joking when she said she slept little. She never sat, she always _curled_, seeming to snuggle into the grass as her fingers caressed the book's pages like a lover, the tree's canopy shading her from the weak sunlight. Out here, she looked far more at ease than he'd ever seen her indoors. Anduin gave her a smile and Myth shared a terrified look, but she did no more than nod to them before she disappeared into the world in front of her. Bolvar wished he could follow.

Instead, he rummaged through the bag beside him and drew out a small velvet bag. "Kat," he said, and she looked up in surprise. "Catch."

She pulled it open. "What is this?" she said, drawing out a brown square.

Anduin stared in shock, but Myth looked just as puzzled. "Haven't you ever eaten chocolate?" said Bolvar teasingly.

"No, I have not," she said, then popped the sweet into her mouth. At her pleasant surprise, Bolvar smiled and returned to his pole.

Myth waited patiently at the edge of the lake for his first fish of the day, standing rigid as if it would help his chances. Anduin already had three in a basket beside him. Behind Bolvar, pages whispered. He resisted the urge to glance behind him.

Most of the time.

Kat looked so at ease he couldn't help but want to join her, wondering how badly she would mind someone reading over her shoulder, wondering if she would snuggle into him the same way she leaned against that tree, wondering if she tasted like the chocolate he'd given her…

"Kair's taking care of Mandy, you know," said Anduin, snapping Bolvar out of his thoughts. "He and Sam are good friends now."

"Do you think they'll get married?" Myth said, ears perking.

"Sam said she's done with men," said Anduin. Myth's face fell.

Kat tsked without looking away from her book. "I hardly blame her."

Bolvar wondered, with self consciousness, if he should be offended.

"But An'da's not like most men!" said Myth. "He's really nice. And he reads a lot, so if he's bothering you all you have to do is give him a book and you have alone time for a few hours. And he's polite and he says you have to be polite to a lady. And everyone else, including Lady Prestor."

"_Especially_ Lady Prestor," came Kat's languid tone amidst Anduin's giggles.

"Being rude to Lady Prestor isn't a good idea," said Bolvar, feeling mischievous as he glanced behind him at Kat again. "They're still finding the bodies of people who were."

Was that a smile from her that graced him just now? No — another one of her smirks. But close enough, so close…

Myth's eyes widened. "Really?"

"No," Anduin. "They never actually _found_ the bodies... yes, I'm joking."

"Sam's really nice, though," said Myth. "And so is An'da. And Amandine would be like having a baby sister!"

"Don't make wedding arrangements just yet," said Katrana. "It is, contrary to popular belief, possible to be friends with a member of the opposite sex."

Myth looked horrified. "Did she just _say_ — "

"She means gender," Anduin said quickly. "Gender!"

Katrana frowned. "No, gender and sex are two different things, however similar." She seemed oblivious to the growing horror of the two children. Bolvar's shoulders shook in silent laughter at their expressions, burying his face in his hands. "For example, dragons can change their sex when they assume mortal forms, though most don't. A female dragon that takes the form of a male human is still female in gender but male in sex, and because of that some say they have no gender at all except for temporary — "

"Kat," said Bolvar. "There are some words children never want to hear, _ever_, no matter the meaning."

Myth looked to be on the brink of hyperventilation. "Ew, ew, ew, ew, _ew_."

"_Children_," Kat tutted, burying herself back in her book with a scowl. Myth continued his whimpering. Forty odd years or not, a child was still a child…

"Caught any fish yet?" said Bolvar.

"Um," said Myth. "No. I've been really quiet but I hate being quiet."

Children were so contradictory, Myth was easily the quietest child Bolvar had ever met. "Think calm thoughts."

"That's boring."

At least his distraction tactic seemed to be working. "Think calm, not-boring thoughts."

"Okay."

Comfortable silence fell. Bolvar forgot about his rod, preferring to stare into space. A few fish escaped Anduin. Crithto stole one of the fish in the basket. Myth went half an hour before realising his bait had been eaten.

As he put more on, he said, "Andy, what was your an'da like?"

Anduin gazed at the water. "He was really brave."

"He taught Anduin how to catch spiders," said Bolvar. "I recall this particular one was the size of my hand..."

"They have bigger in Elwynn," said Anduin. "This was a baby one though, and it was on my wall, and he taught me how to catch it."

"Ooh."

"He was nice," said Anduin. "Very kind." His eyes grew wistful. He didn't seem to notice the jerking of his fishing rod as he stared into space. "He liked reading me stories at night, sometimes. Usually he was too busy, or too tired. He taught me how to sword fight with sticks when I was little." He sighed.

"Put him out of your mind," said Kat. "He is gone."

"It's alright, Anduin," said Bolvar without second thought. "I miss him too."

But Kat clucked, turning another page. "Mourning him is useless."

Bolvar frowned. The _old_ Kat would have said that, but he was surprised to hear that today. "It's alright to miss those we love," he said to Anduin. Myth's eyes grew wide, reminiscent of the expression of a man sucked into an oncoming storm. "We love them, and we want them back. That's normal."

Bolvar prayed Kat would stay quiet.

She didn't.

"Normal," said Kat. "But useless. Varian Wrynn did nothing for his kingdom while he angsted about his dead wife."

Bolvar closed his eyes. "You did _not_ just say that. Have you _never_ missed someone?" he said. "Have you never lost someone?"

There was only a second of hesitation before Katrana said, "No. I didn't care when _my_ father died, and there's certainly no excuse for how poor a leader Varian Wrynn was."

"Yeah," said Anduin, eyes narrowing as he threw down his rod. "But _you're_ heartless, you don't care about _anyone_."

"And _you_ are pathetic for mourning a dead, useless man."

"Lady Prestor," Bolvar snapped. "That's _enough_."

The tension threatened to snap like an overstrained bowstring as he and Katrana glared at each other. Myth watched in morbid transfixion. Katrana placed a ribbon between the pages of her book without breaking Bolvar's gaze, disgust evident on every line of her face.

"Varian was one of the best men I ever knew," said Bolvar. Silently, he begged her to quiet, but she did not.

"You cannot have known many men, then," she said with a sneer, standing up. "I forgot how sentimental people can be." She snapped her book shut, trapping the ribbon. "Good day to you all, I have work to do."

She left a tense silence in her wake.

"I thought you said she was nicer," said Anduin's quiet voice. Myth dropped his rod and snuggled up to his friend.

"I thought I did, too," murmured Bolvar. He looked up, and already Katrana was a dot on the grass, chin held high.

Shock eroded a hollowness in his chest. She _had_ been kinder, though. She hadn't been ripping people apart in court, preferring to deconstruct arguments without as much malice as she used to…

… As _much_ malice. And that was the key word, wasn't it? She was still brusque, still could be cruel. It was foolish of him to believe that she'd changed, that he could nurture her kindness. What the hell was he, some kind of white knight? People didn't change. They never did. And throughout all the years from when she'd been seven years old, Katrana Prestor had _never_ changed. How could he have ever thought she had? "She's a hateful woman," he said. "I'm sorry, Anduin. I didn't think she'd do this." Not again.

It seared a hole in him, tinged with red, raw and exposed.

He knew not to take it personally. He _knew_ not to take it personally. But part of him reeled in disbelief, and the rest of him quietly shook its head.

He was disappointed. "Some people cling to cruelty and use it as a spiked shield against the world, a weapon and a defence in one. And no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you wish they wouldn't, they will not let it go."

Anduin hugged his knees, staring into space, one head resting against the top of Myth's. Crithto whimpered.

"Some people never change," Bolvar murmured. "Let her throw her tantrums, let her be spiteful. It's all she knows and she doesn't care to change that."

The beginnings of hot anger simmered in the hole of his chest.

How dare she? How _dare_ she? She was an adult, for fel's sake! Was it really so hard for her to control her feldamned behaviour? Anduin was _ten years old_, how could she say that to him? Did Katrana really care so little about turning into her own father that she would spread his malice around?

The anger continued to bubble and grow.

"I'm going to have a word with her," said Bolvar, standing up. "Come on, let's get back inside. Myth, can you look after him when you get back to Sam?"

"I will," said Myth, chin lifting loyally.

"I miss Dad," said Anduin.

"I know, Andy," said Bolvar. "I know."

* * *

**_A/N:_**

**_Kai:_**_ Oops, sorry for the confusion. Things that Katrana says while we're in Bolvar's POV should generally be taken with a grain of salt because she's a dirty liar! Sabellian is Deathwing's son and therefore younger than him, but Onyxia was referring to the fact that Baron Sablemane has an older appearance than Daval Prestor. :) Thank you for the review!_


	19. Homesick

**Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

Humans were stupid, a sentimental lot that bred and encouraged weakness in their children and the subsequent generations. Disgusted in the company she kept, Katrana retreated to her study lest she allow that same weakness to seep into her like taint. Anduin pining after his father would not bring him back.

And neither would dwelling over Sabel reopen the Dark Portal.

She slammed her fist on the desk with a bang. It groaned underneath her and threatened to splinter.

Sabellian was dead and gone, _end of story_. When the collapsing Portal trapped his brood as they waged war against the gronn, the rest of the Flight got on with their lives. But not her. Like a whelpling pining for a lost clutchmate, she'd gone on and _on_ about him and she was sick of it. She was _better_ than these mortals. Seeing her own behaviour in Anduin had filled her with revulsion.

Why did the mortals mourn when the Obsidians were strong enough not to? Why did the mortals let each other cry, when anything more than a single mourning call was unnecessary? They were _useless_, the whole lot of those pathetic, two-legged animals.

And yet she could not afford to be angry at mortals. This was their culture, however wrong and foolish it was, and she had a job to do. When she next saw Bolvar she would force herself to apologise and appear as if she regretted her behaviour.

A strong dragon regretted _nothing_.

She took a deep breath, and removed her fist from the desk. Echoes of dim pain throbbed underneath reddened skin.

A knock sounded on the door.

Annoyed, she snapped, "_What?_"

Speak of a demon, as the humans said, and it shall appear. Bolvar Fordragon closed the door behind him. "Lady Prestor, a word?"

'Lady Prestor?'

She gestured with a hand. "Come closer, then." She sat down behind her desk. She cared not for etiquette and respect today.

"Let me be frank?" said Bolvar. His arms crossed.

Impressive. Normally Fordragon wouldn't know where to locate his spine if someone ripped it out and beat him with it.

"Go ahead, _Highlord_," said Katrana. She should play nice, should be more careful, but she could not summon anything but apathy and hatred.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Bolvar glared at her.

"I beg your pardon?" Katrana rose her eyebrows in a patronising expression.

As she expected, his fists clenched and his eyes narrowed. "How could you _say_ that to him?" said Bolvar. "The boy is ten years old, Katrana! His father is probably dead, the search has been cancelled, he's been stabbed in the heart as much as a boy his age can be, how could you even dream of punishing him more than you already have?"

"Because it's pathetic," said Katrana. "His father is not coming back, it's about time the boy stopped whining about it."

Oh ho _ho_, she'd never seen Fordragon so angry before. With every word she spoke he threatened to explode out of his own skin, and his voice only grew louder. Wasn't it lucky for them both that she still had the soundproofing spell on the walls? "Do you want to know what's _truly_ pathetic? Hiding from your feelings."

Her eyes narrowed. "I do not _hide_," she snarled between clenched teeth.

"Oh, did I strike a nerve?" said Bolvar, stepping closer. "Are you afraid of a little bit of emotion, Katrana? What, is it going to kill you? That ten-year-old boy has more courage in one bone than you do in your entire body, you _coward_."

Katrana sucked in her breath between her teeth. "Do not _ever_ call me a coward."

She had been amongst the enemy for thirty long, lonely years, and had lost her brother and father for twenty of them and her mate for two. If she were to be whisked home in five minutes it would be too far away. She had sacrificed _everything_ about herself for her kin, mingling with the most disgusting races in existence all to protect them. Any day now she could be discovered and killed, along with the majority of what was left of the Flight.

She was no _coward_.

Katrana shook with fury. Green eyes glared back at her. How could that whelp not back _down_? Why was that spineless wretch still standing up to her?

And suddenly the anger deflated from her.

She wanted to go home. She was _done_ with humans. Her head fell into her hands and she made no efforts to disguise it. Let the human see her weakness, let him tear her apart, she couldn't care less. He was nothing but a pathetic leader who allowed her to dangle him like a puppet on strings, a leader who was so easy to turn away from his people, blind to their needs.

Not like her. She would do _anything_ for her Flight. She had worked tirelessly for over ten years from within Stormwind just for them.

And they needed her here right now. Just for a little longer.

For her daughter, Ebonaria. For her Brood. For her unhatched children, so they could grow up in a world where being a Black Dragon meant being a force to be reckoned with rather than a dumb pest.

She had a purpose here, and she would not forsake it no matter how distasteful.

"I'm sorry," she forced herself to say. "I'm sorry."

She heard no answer. When she looked up he shook his head, fists still clenched, nose crinkled in disgust. "What the hell do you take me for, Katrana? This isn't a game of politics where you say the right thing and the diplomat does what you want them too. If you were sorry you'd stop insulting and mocking people like they're your personal entertainment. Stop treating them like _shit_. I thought you were better than that. You're turning into your father."

She'd apologised, what more did he _want_? "And?" she said. "I fail to see the problem with this."

Deathwing would know what to do. And he'd do it without hesitation.

"He was _psychotic_, Katrana!" said Bolvar. "He put on a friendly front and behind closed doors he treated you and your mother worse than dirt!"

"My mother deserved everything she got."

"Do you really believe that?" Bolvar's voice rose further._ "Really_? I wouldn't blame a child for thinking that, but you're an adult, Katrana, _how can you not know better?_"

"She was a pathetic woman who wouldn't know strength if it hit her in the —"

"And once _more_ it comes down to your twisted ideas of strength," Bolvar pointed at her. "You preach it like tearing the people around you apart is something to admire, something to aspire to. You preach strength as if everyone's out to get you, as if it's a kill-or-be-killed world, as if everyone's out to hurt you —"

"Maybe they are."

"They _aren't_, Kat!" The desk banged as Bolvar slammed his hands onto the wood, his hot glare searing into her. "I know you had to go into a kind of survival mode when your father was alive but that was _long ago_, can't you understand you don't _need_ that anymore? Nobody here is out to get you."

"You truly have no idea, do you?" Katrana spat. "If you knew me half as well as you seem to think you do, you would loathe me, completely and utterly, and you would wish me just as dead as everyone else does."

"Stop being so paranoid," said Bolvar. "There is _nothing_ that could make me hate you short of your actions, and right now they're driving me up the wall. Let your father _go_, Kat."

Her father was _dead_ thanks to humans. Fury rose within her like a magma wyrm from liquid fire. Her eyes narrowed to angry slits. "You are nothing short of an ignorant fool."

Bolvar laughed bitterly. "You're the ignorant one here, Kat."

"How _dare_ you —"

"You are truly, completely and utterly ignorant," he said. "You're in pain, I can't ignore that, and I won't do what you do and mock you for that. You need healing, you need love, and you need to shed this stupid fixation of yours with strength. Stop being a monster, get some _true_ courage."

"You persist in treating me like a wounded animal — "

"But you are, Kat," said Bolvar. "That's exactly what you are. You're a wounded animal in survival mode, lashing out at others for not being the same as you. You push them down to lift yourself up. The world isn't the slit-throat place you think it is."

"Maybe not for you, it isn't." Katrana stared at him coldly. "Maybe not for you."

"And what the hell makes you so special?"

Because she was a dragon. Because her culture prided strength and mercilessly cut out the weak like weeds in a prized garden. Because he insulted everything it meant to be a part of the Obsidian Dragonflight. Instead of answering, she took a long hard look at him. Cracks spread within her. She remembered the day the inter-Dragonflight war started, the days that the first Purging occurred as the hatchlings attacked and devoured each other, the day it all started when Deathwing fell apart and almost killed her mother…

And a tiny piece of her asked, _why?_

"Because it's how things are," she said. "Because no matter how much you analyse me to death, because no matter how much you pretend you know what I experience and feel, you never will. Stormwind Keep is your home, this city is your family, you are surrounded with people who think and act like you if only you approached them. You don't know what I go through every day."

"Then tell me."

This time it was her turn to laugh with bitterness. "Maybe I will — when the Dark Portal opens and everything on the other side freezes over. You and the rest of the people who live here are nothing but idiotic fools, nothing but shallow, vain creatures."

"Do you really believe that?" Finally, he stopped yelling, his voice lowering into a whisper. "Do you _honestly_ think that? Maybe if you opened your eyes and got to know some of us you'd see that we're far more complicated than your elitist prat of a father spoon-fed you into thinking. Everyone has a mask they present to the world, everyone has some form of hell in their past, everyone has hopes and dreams and wishes and things they mourn. You are not alone, Kat."

Oh, but she was. To be a Black dragon, even surrounded by one's own kind, was to _be_ alone. None of her kind believed in mutual dependence. "Are you done?" she spat.

He stepped back. "I'm done. I'm really done."

The door slammed behind him.

He wasn't afraid of her anymore, Katrana realised. Spending Friday nights playing chess and reading books had changed that. He no longer saw her as a threat. He saw her as...

... as another human being.

-o-O-o-

He'd get over it, Katrana had thought.

But he didn't.

He flatly stated he was busy on Friday, and refused to talk to her regarding anything but professional matters, and even then he kept his words curt and to the point. He used to babble somewhat, chuckle and fidget, but not anymore. He'd held grudges before, but never so stubbornly clung to them. Had she _really_ wounded him this time? Why did he care so damn much, anyway? It wasn't as if any of her pathetic attempts to charm him had had any affect.

She found herself at a loss for what to do with herself. Her attention waned if she picked up a book. As the days to Winter's Veil ticked closer she found herself mostly staring into the fire in her study, listless. Even simple thinking seemed to take too much energy. She had work to do, a mistake to fix, skipped assemblies to attend to, but it was as if with that failure her mind had given up and shut down on her. When Evenian sought her out after another skipped meeting he attempted to speak with her about something to do with Tariona White and Dragonbane, but she sent him out of the room with a fireball.

She knew she should have listened, should pull herself together.

But she didn't. She had no excuse, no reason. She just didn't.

It was odd, not having anyone to speak to in the Keep again. Anduin avoided her, Kair frowned whenever he saw her and Myth flat-out ran the other way if they crossed paths. Even Samantha seemed to hesitate with a nervous smile around Katrana, as if wary that Katrana would blow up at her.

But Sam had _always_ been that way around her. Hadn't Katrana been harsh with her once? Invalidated her suffering, condemned her for it, the very day Bolvar had first asked her for chess? That seemed so long ago now. Her actions had seemed logical at the time, but now...

Now, with a greater familiarity of how humanity truly worked, it seemed cruel. Unlike the Flight, humans did not teach their kind to protect themselves better. Instead, they taught them not to hurt one another. Humans did not blame one another for the actions of someone else. At least, not a human that wanted friends.

The day before Winter's Veil, the dragon within Katrana made one last-ditch attempt at pulling her out of whatever rut she fell into and took a walk about the city, listening and watching the humans among her. The Winter's Veil decorations were going up, goblins prepared to suck away every last traditional drop from the holiday like a parasite. It seemed nowhere in the city could one escape the little green creatures, and it wasn't for lack of trying. That day, Katrana walked _everywhere_.

And everywhere she saw reminders of home.

The dwarves of the Dwarven District, busy with their bellows and forges, reminded Katrana of the dragonspawn who struggled to light damp coal in the Dragonmurk's forge. The priests and prayers of Cathedral Square reminded her of the wyrmcults of old, the ancestors of the dragonspawn that served her today. The herbalists and alchemists that pored over their gardens in the Mage Quarter reminded her of —

_Be a little more human._

Fine. _Fine_. Humans were stupid, pathetic creatures that did not suppress emotions. _Fine_, she missed the stupid idiot over in Outland who couldn't save his Flight if someone handed it to him on a silver platter. The idiot who had created at least a good third of medicines and recipes that alchemists used today. The idiot who always knew what to say, whose outcast status was because he spoke his mind without a fear in the world, who seemed to have some kind of human fetish with the amount of times he clung to their society.

She missed him. More than anything. She missed him more than Orion, who'd merely been a mate, more an arrangement of convenience and out of respect to Sabel, who'd spoken highly of him.

And if Sabel could see her now, he'd have confronted her with it. _He_ never lied to himself, or allowed others to lie to him. He'd have waved her pain in her face, thrust it into her hands and told her to do something useful with it.

But what could she do with it?

_Act human._

Well, humans _did_ wallow in their own misery, so it was a start.

She wanted to go home. She'd been with humans for far too long. She had to be with her own kin again, to find the fragments of Onyxia she felt as if she had lost. She had to find her anger again, her determination, her intelligence. She hadn't been _herself_ for the last few days. She'd turned into some sickly whelp, unable to do more than curl up in self-pity.

No wonder humans did it. It was a cruel addiction.

_Human. Be human._

That was all it came down to, wasn't it, in order to be accepted and hold more power within human social circles? She had to pry away every last scale of her draconic being, shed the rest of Onyxia, truly become Katrana Prestor. She wasn't dragon anymore. She couldn't afford to be dragon anymore.

She _would_ go home one day.

But not until her job was done.

Katrana spent the rest of her day in the Trade District, following spontaneous human impulses that arose rather than discarding and suppressing them. She found a little stuffed bear for Amandine's first Winter's Veil, a holiday she normally scorned. Perhaps the gift would help Sam stop walking on eggshells around her.

Then she drifted by the book stall, following her curiosity. Fine. She liked books. So what? It was a useless hobby, but useless hobbies were human. She browsed the titles, read summaries at the back. Oddly enough, she felt better already.

A familiar design caught her eye, and she picked up a book by Gertrude Blackwell entitled _Spring_. Once she opened the book and glanced inside, she realised why. It was the book Bolvar had mentioned before, the incomplete series he wanted to finish, and Katrana knew he still didn't have it.

Perhaps...

Oh, fel. Why not?

She could think of plenty of reasons why not, but ignored them. Katrana ended up walking away from the stall with five books instead of one. Two for Bolvar, three for her. Only because she felt that giving Bolvar three would be overkill. Winter's Veil _was_ coming up. There was no need to make a big deal out of it. A plain brown package without a card would do. Just give it to him on the day, make no fuss about it, it would be over and the stupid human would have his book. She tucked them into a bag at her hip. She admitted to herself with relief that she _did_ look forward to reading when she got to the Keep, to escaping from this damned melancholy that had descended upon her.

Because yes, she felt melancholic. Miserable.

It got easier the more she said it to herself.

-o-O-o-

He shouldn't have blown up at her.

But he wasn't going to apologise. He was done.

The assemblies, the last of the year before Winter's Veil started, went ungraced with the presence of Bolvar Fordragon's most loathed colleague. The attendance of certain advisors were compulsory depending on the topic broached during the session, and though the dragons were brought up once again by Tariona White, nobody complained about Katrana's absence. When the advisors met again in Bolvar's study to discuss things further, she still did not turn up. Usually if one was absent at the smaller gatherings, they would be mentioned, located and admonished, but Tariona White and her colleagues didn't even bring her up. It was almost as if they were afraid to remind him of her existence, afraid to bring the fire-breathing woman back into the fold.

Part of Bolvar wanted to fire her and never have to deal with her again.

The difference was obvious. Now the advisors spoke freely. Katrana's presence always hung over the room like a thunder cloud, but now they laughed and joked and smiled. Bolvar would have enjoyed it if his chest didn't ache.

He did miss her, but he felt guilty for it. These people so enjoyed it when she was gone, why couldn't he, too? She'd been cruel and nasty to too many people. Her pathetic apologies had been all for naught. And truthfully, Bolvar didn't want to hear them. He didn't want to hear her voice. He didn't want to be reminded of all the pain she caused others.

Like Anduin. The boy had fallen into another depression and it was all Bolvar could do to struggle to bring him out of it. Some days Anduin could barely get out of bed, constantly tired and barely eating. When that happened, Bolvar brought him and the bodyguard Maeqa to the library, where soft-spoken Kair would murmur to him and point him to stories that Bolvar could remember saving him so long ago.

"I started reading when my parents died," said Bolvar, the day before Winter's Veil started. Anduin flicked through a book in his arms as Myth curled up on a windowsill with one arm around Crithto. Jettion watched them unblinkingly. "My family were never really readers. My mother made pots, my father carved instruments and wood, and I'd be out playing in the garden with Reggie. We were always doers, never sitting still, our hands always moving. But when they died it almost tore me apart, I was only a boy, and the only thing that kept me together was disappearing into the pages of a book. If I read, I didn't have to think about it. If I read, I didn't have to dwell on everything. If I read, it stopped me doing stupider things. Everyone coped with the destruction of Stormwind differently." He smiled weakly. "Your father used to pummel his trainers and scream his lungs out as if he was fighting orcs. Reggie's older brother Franklin used to get drunk. My first girlfriend… sought company with a lot of people."

Anduin's eyes glistened with tears as he looked up at Bolvar. "Does it get easier?" he said.

Bolvar gazed at the books in Anduin's hands. "It gets easier, with time. With a lot of time," he confessed. "But it never goes away. I know people who lost their parents to old age that said the void never went away. We see ourselves as independent, scorn those who are too attached to them that aren't children, but that's not how life is. Our parents are always our parents, and as long as they're alive we always feel we have a home. To lose them to more traumatic circumstances only makes it harder. It doesn't go away, Anduin. It'll get easier, but it won't go away."

Anduin hugged the books to him. "Do you think Lady Prestor misses her father?"

"You don't believe what she said?"

"No," said Anduin. "When people are angry it's because they hurt. You taught me that."

Bolvar hesitated. "Her father…" Anduin was only ten. And it was none of his business. "Her father was a… nasty man."

"Did he hurt her?"

"That's not for me to say."

"So he did, then."

"I think she's a very lonely, bitter person who can't understand how to get and keep the friends that normal people take for granted," said Bolvar. "And I think that hurts and upsets her, but she's too proud to admit otherwise even to herself. She's a very defensive woman. She can't even admit to me that she likes _books_, for crying out loud, she acts as if everything she does is scrutinised and found wanting."

"She needs a hug," said Anduin. He sniffled. "You should give her a hug. She likes you. You said she was nice to you, that she liked playing chess with you." He paused, and then said, "Can I still give her my Winter's Veil present?"

"You got one for her?"

"Mhmm," said Anduin. "When you were off speaking with the high elf and Sammy. We had to go though so I had Maeqa go back to get it when she was off-duty."

"If you want, Anduin," said Bolvar. "I don't understand why you want to give her another chance, truthfully."

"Because everyone deserves second chances."

"Only if they want it, Anduin," said Bolvar. "If not, then you'll just hurt yourself in the end."

Anduin hesitated. "So you think I shouldn't?"

"Give it to her," said Bolvar. "You already got it. But remember, Anduin — everyone may deserve second chances, but to give a third is to end up giving more."

"I'll remember," said Anduin. He stroked the spine of one of the books like a pet. "You know, I liked her as well. Before she started talking badly about Dad. She was just sitting there quietly, and she didn't yell at Myth for implying she wasn't a lady."

"Hmm?"

"When he said you had to to be nice to everyone, 'even Lady Prestor', as he said." Anduin moved away to the sill, sitting down. Myth was absorbed in his book.

_We're all bookworms,_ Bolvar thought. _The entire bloody lot of us._

"She liked talking about the dragons," said Anduin. "And she liked the chocolates. And she… I don't know. She didn't seem as scary as she usually did, just sitting there."

"She did have her good moments," said Bolvar. "She had a lot of them recently, I'll admit. But that won't excuse how she acted."

"But her bad moments are enough to cancel out all her good ones?" was all Anduin said, before he opened the book and vanished into it.

Anduin was growing up.

And perhaps he was right. Everyone had bad days. Nobody was perfect. And sometimes there seemed to be something in the way Katrana acted that seemed like she was seeking permission to break away from her rigid attitudes, as if she was afraid to truly let go.

_Those that lash out greatest have the most to lose_, she'd told him once.

Forget it. He'd leave her alone. It was for the best, really. If she wanted to act kind, she was more than capable of it. He wasn't going to give himself a headache waiting for her to.

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ That awkward moment when everyone cheers a sharp-tongued Onyxia, and you end up tearing her apart and removing the winds from her sails the chapter after. I hope Bolvar makes up for it._

_Thanks to all for the reviews! Oooh, not far from a hundred, eek!_


	20. Hora's Lullaby

**_A/N:_**_ Whoa, so many lovely reviews for the last chapter. :D Because of that, have another! This one is... interesting. We're about maybe two thirds through part one now, and the last third... oooh... let's just say I'm very excited to write it._

_And oh my! Between being tackled and squealed at, and being stuffed in a top hat and sunglasses, poor Sabellian's going through much abuse! ... It cracks me up. I have the best readers ever._

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

* * *

Time wore away most of Winter's Veil. The preparations for the ball headed well underway and the Keep filled with the extended family of the House of Nobles. Some arrived by tram from the neighbouring Ironforge, whilst some hailed all the way from Darnassus as diplomats eager to return home for the holidays. The city boasted a jovial atmosphere and Katrana watched the humans bustle about, finding herself enraptured by their enthusiastic activity.

There was little to do in the Keep. If Winter's Veil were longer, Katrana would have departed for the Marsh, but she would barely have a few days rest at the Marsh before needing to head back. The idea tempted her, but the week-long flight cross-continent exhausted even the strongest wyrms. True, her staff functioned as an enormous teleportation rune, but it had only one use and it was strictly for emergencies only. In the meantime she graced herself with the first eighteen hour sleep she had all year.

She'd always spent every Winter's Veil day with the royal family, in spite of being an advisor. She did not celebrate the holiday itself but it was important to remain in the family's good graces by wishing them a good day. And Fordragon would be there. The plan required she kept him occupied that night, though at this rate she might have to drug him and create an entirely new memory whilst Evenian conspired with White.

Over the couple of weeks, Katrana had given herself permission to experience her weak moments and they'd cropped up more and more, resulting in, to her horror, presents for those of the Keep with whom she'd associated most. She wrapped them in plain brown packages, slipped into the Royal Quarters with her key and left them under the tree. It was pathetic, but it was human. And "pathetic" and "human" were synonyms as it was.

Stormwind was cold in winter, but it never snowed. On Veil Day, however, it was a tradition of some mages to set up shop on top of one of the tallest towers in Stormwind and _make_ snow. Katrana looked up from her book at dawn after one of her usual sleepless nights and saw a few inches outside of her window covering the lawn. Snow billowed and blew all over the city, sinking into the canals and making its home on the rooftops. Enchanted cobblestones repelled the flakes, leaving the paths clear.

Later that morning she donned one of her favourite robes, deep red with trailing sleeves and a plunging neckline. She preened her dark hair and indulged her vanity.

It was easy to allow the human moments to come. The true challenge would be growing strong again when her duty was done.

The doors of the Royal Quarters were wide open, Maeqa leaning against the doorway. On either side of the door stood two men in an identical uniform. Maeqa's purple eyebrows rose in amused surprise as she spied Lady Prestor. "Happy Winter's Veil Day, my lady," Maeqa commented.

"Not watching the windows?" said Katrana.

"Stormwind Intelligence finally found new bodyguards last week," said Maeqa. "Foris and I, along with two others, have the day shift." She nodded to the two guards stationed either side of the door.

"Night elves on the day shift?"

"It makes no difference to me," said Maeqa. "But Anduin would be more comfortable in our presence whilst he is awake until he gets to know them better. Do come in, my Lady."

Katrana stepped inside onto the sky blue carpet. Maeqa closed the door on the guards behind them and moved to stand beside it, hands behind her back. Had she been expecting her? Katrana felt a brief moment of foolishness as she spotted Samantha with Amandine by the tree, Amandine clinging to a familiar bear as if her life depended on it. Beside them, Anduin pored over a clockwork device on the floor with Bolvar crouched beside him. By the window hovered Foris, who gazed out at the spiralling snowflakes with his hands clasped behind his back.

As soon as Samantha looked up, she brightened. "Lady Prestor!" she said. Katrana wished she did not call so loudly, as it drew the attention of everyone else in the room. Samantha trotted over, smiling. "Was it you who gave Amandine the bear?"

"I — " Katrana frowned. She said defensively, "It's important to celebrate her first Winter's Veil. Yes, it was I."

She froze as Samantha threw her arms around her. "Thank you so much," said Sam. "Mandy won't let it go, she loves it."

Katrana lowered her arms. One hand still gripped her staff but she hesitantly curled the free one around Samantha. Odd, but her human body seemed to appreciate the gentle pressure the hug gave her, and Samantha's natural scent and warmth felt pleasant. But then, humans were affectionate creatures, weren't they? It was only natural a human body would wish the same. "It was no trouble."

Sam pulled away, smiling. "And the book! It's excellent, how did you know I liked dragons? The illustrations are _beautiful_."

"I did not, as a matter of fact," said Katrana. "It was more of a personal touch I hoped you would appreciate more than anything else."

"I used to have a little dragon statue when I was little, it was my mother's," said Sam. "She loved dragons too, I think. She used to have a whelp. It broke one day, the statue, I mean, not the whelp. But I used to make up stories about dragons, such a silly little thing, but it's what I did." She chuckled, shaking her head. Behind her, Amandine looked in danger of falling asleep with the bear in a stranglehold.

"Lady Prestor," said Bolvar's voice. When Katrana looked up she saw a soft smile. "It's good to see you here."

The incident at the lake could have been forgotten with the grin Anduin gave her as he trotted over, the device in his arms. "Look what Bolvar got me," he said.

"Does that move?" she said, noting the metal propellors on the clockwork boat he held.

"Mhmm!" said Anduin. "We just finished putting it together. You wind it up and put it in water and it goes! Have to make sure it doesn't rust though."

"Clever," said Katrana. "Gnome make, I assume, and not goblin?"

"Naturally," Bolvar grinned at her, though it did not quite reach his eyes as he remained by the tree. "We wouldn't want it blowing up in the bath with him, would we?"

"Indeed not," said Katrana.

"And Jettion got a collar!" said Anduin. He looked around. "Where _is_ he?"

"Probably asleep on your bed again," said Samantha. Amandine fell onto her back, still holding the bear. "I gave him extra meat today because it's a special occasion, he might be sleeping it off."

"I should show this to him!" said Anduin, cradling the boat. "Let's wake him up and fill the bath."

"Think he'd like it?" Sam looked amused.

"He hates water but maybe he can ride on it. He doesn't weigh much."

Katrana smirked as Anduin left the room with Samantha, and after a moment the two night elves peeled from their stations and followed. Katrana glanced at the closed door, but the bodyguards outside remained there. Little Amandine fell asleep on her blanket on the floor, completely encased in flannel, the teddy bear dwarfing her. Katrana took Foris's place and gazed out of the window. The lake glittered, surrounded by a blanket of white. The mages were still trying to freeze the water in Stormwind, but hadn't had much luck over the last few years. The snow would last, however, unable to be affected by air temperature until the enchantments wore off during the night.

"The mages have truly overexerted themselves this year," said Katrana. She listened to the running of bathwater in the other room. "I do not quite recall this much snow the last few years."

It wasn't until Bolvar spoke, bending by the tree, that Katrana realised they were alone. "They do better every year. It still annoys some people, but I love it. It's not icy and slicky like Veil Days were at Lordaeron."

"I always found those days dull."

"But your father celebrated _that_, of course, didn't he?"

No doubt Deathwing would find Bolvar's obsession with him amusing. "He did. He attended banquets and joined the other nobles for games during the day."

"But not you? Never gave you presents or anything?"

Katrana bit back a sigh. "No, he always informed me to go do my own thing. I have no family, Bolvar, and the only family I had never gave me a thing. Presents are unimportant, and Winter's Veil is for family."

"I'm wounded, really, I am," said Bolvar. She heard him come closer. "But do allow me to give me your first. Happy Winter's Veil, Kat."

She frowned, turning, then blinked. He smiled at her, offering her a lumpy parcel. "Is it really so hard to believe I got you something?"

"I..." she continued to stare at it, and quietly took it from him, feeling the object. What _was_ inside?

"Well, open it," he said. "Go on."

She felt at a loss for a moment, before she sought out the edges of paper and gently tore them from place. How was she supposed to react? What did he expect from her?

And what material possession could he _possibly_ think would suit her?

The items inside were wrapped in silk, one noticeably smaller than the other. The smaller package revealed a metal bookmark painted gold. On top sat a flat dragon made of tiny crystals for scales. A topaz eye glittered at her in a sea of black gemstones.

"Onyx," she murmured. "How fitting."

She placed the beautiful bookmark on the windowsill, keeping it close as she unwrapped the silk from the bigger object.

What it held took her breath away.

She cradled a small box the colour of bronze in her hands, with a golden drake curled on the lid. Etched Draconic runes ran aong the side. Real Draconic, too; lyrics of a song.

She opened the lid. In the space inside lay a little mechanical device. It was not Gnommish. Certainly not Goblin.

"This is..." she said. "Where did you... this is _Bronze_ make." She stared at it. "The design is Bronze, the song on the side is one of their songs, it's a lullaby..."

She found a key in the side and twisted it as far as it would go. In her head, she remembered the little Bronze dragon's laugh from Cathedral Square in the pouring rain as she looked for Anduin, remembered the notes that wedged inside her head, notes that repeated over and over…

She let the key go. She heard the notes.

And they kept going.

For the first time in thousands of years she heard the song in its full again. She looked at the sides of the box, reading the lyrics of a lullaby…

_She heard a laugh. "Onyxia, I know you'll be bigger than me soon, but don't rub it in!"_

_Onyxia wagged her tail, sitting on her tiny haunches as a gnome with golden hair grinned down at her. "Alright," she said. "Sit _still_, Onyxia! You have to remember this when you're all grown up. I'll make sure this gets to you. Listen."_

_The song began to play._

"_I need you to remember, Onyxia," said the gnome. "Horan Bronzewing. Remember the name. Horan Bronzewing. One day you'll need to trust someone, someone other than your mate, someone who isn't one of your dragonspawn. It will be me. When the time is right, seek me out. I'll make sure you'll remember. Listen to the song again."_

Katrana stared into space, listening. The Bronze...

Horan.

_Hora_. Her little helper. What could she mean?

Recalling the human, she breathed, "It's beautiful. It's genuine dragon make, I don't know where you got it but it's _real_, this song was taught to the legendary Vrykul by the Bronze dragons, and they'd sing it to their children."

She was babbling now, her mind split between her mouth and her thoughts. The Bronze had made sure this box got to her, to tell her something, but what? What would happen that the Bronze required her to find her?

Quietly, Bolvar took the box out of her hands. It was winding down, but he wound it up again, allowing it to play. Onyxia's eyes were still fixed on the box as the human stepped closer. "It _is_ Bronze," she said, mind rushing behind her words. "Bronze artefacts don't age because they bring them in time all over the place." She looked at Bolvar, who stood straight in front of her. "It — oh. What are you...?"

The human drew her close to his chest and pressed his lips to hers.

Onyxia went still, blinking in confusion, her mind unable to catch up with her senses. She felt warm arms curl around her and cradle her close, stroking her back with an odd comfort. A pleasant scent washed around her, and she felt his heartbeat through her skin.

What was he _doing_?

Bolvar broke away, sheepish. "Sorry. Um," he said. "I missed you."

Onyxia licked her lips. They tasted odd. "Um."

A human had never done that to her before.

He'd kissed her. It was a human sign of affection, not one any decent dragon would be familiar with, much like a hug only… different. She'd always wondered _why_ humans found it pleasant. Perhaps it was touch? Humans enjoyed touch between friends and lovers.

Why _did_ the human kiss her? Humans kissed to show affection, didn't they? Yes, she remembered now. It was usually to show romantic affection, a desire to become one's mate —

Oh.

A slow grin spread across Bolvar's face. "Did you just say _um_?"

She blinked, shaking herself, willing her mind to focus. She had not expected _that_ reaction from the human. What had prompted it? "I appear to have, haven't I? Oh my. I am losing my touch, it seems."

Bolvar laughed. "You should lose your touch more often. Do I _really_ have that effect on you?"

"Of course not," Katrana drew herself to her full height, meeting Bolvar's eyes again. "You merely startled me."

"Startled, sure." Bolvar smirked.

"It is true," said Katrana. "And you are nervous."

"So are you."

"I am _not_."

"Kat, you're acting like you dropped your _brain_."

"I am startled," said Katrana. "No one has ever before had that reaction to any statements regarding Draconic artefacts." She frowned. "I was not aware you missed my presence, you seemed to strongly dislike it over the last two weeks."

"I was too quick to condemn you," said Bolvar. "You apologised. I ignored it. I'm sorry."

The song petered out and died. Katrana felt a touch on her arm.

"Thanks for the books," he murmured. "You know my tastes well."

She had a golden opportunity here, didn't she? An opportunity for the Flight, to better establish her power and control.

It had fallen into her lap, and so she would take it without complaint.

She stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and touching lips again in that foreign human gesture. It pleased him, she sensed that from the way his arms came around her again and the soft sigh he gave, the way his eyes closed and his hands stroked her back and entwined in her hair.

And whatever kept the human happy kept her happy.

"So!" said a voice from the next room. "As it turns out, Jettion can't balance on a boat to save his life and hates getting wet — oh, _eww._"

Bolvar jerked away as if Katrana had turned searing in his hands. Both adults stared at each other. Katrana realised her expression looked just as sheepish as his.

"Really, Anduin," Samantha sighed, appearing from behind the boy. She looked unfazed. "Get over it."

"I'm going to be _sick_."

Samantha Inkweaver just smirked at them, a shuddering Anduin pressing his face into her arm as if trying to unsee what he had witnessed. "I'm not going to tell anyone," she said simply.

Katrana and Bolvar stared at each other. Katrana blinked in thought. What happened now? She knew nothing of human courtship.

"I was going to suggest going to the park," said Samantha, moving to pick Amandine up from the floor. The child's eyes fluttered open. "The night elves have a celebration going on, you know. Kair and Myth will be there."

"Myth!" said Anduin. "Oh my gods, I need to talk to Myth."

"Anduin," said Bolvar softly. "Perhaps that's not a good idea."

Bolvar was right, of course. If the rest of the nobility ever found out...

Oh, they would _not_ be happy.

And neither would the Dragonspawn, though they would accept that some things were necessary.

"If we are going to the park, I shall need to change," said Katrana. She picked up the box and the bookmark. The Park would be a good opportunity to be more human, too.

She wasn't hesitating anymore. She threw herself into this at full tilt. She was human, now.

She had a lot of catching up to do.

-o-O-o-

He hadn't lied. He _had_ missed her.

He'd been a coward himself, too afraid of her turning on him, too afraid of her judgement. But everyone had bad days. Everyone relapsed. And now everything was forgiven, and she was... his?

He hadn't intended to kiss her, but he'd never before seen her like that. Her eyes had widened and she'd stared into space, listening in rapture... or recalling something? It was like the night she'd had her flashback, but if a memory came to her that morning it was a happier one. Perhaps she'd recalled her mother, or her brother. A better time.

She'd looked beautiful. She'd babbled — _babbled_! It had been adorable! She'd babbled about her precious dragons and about authenticity... had it _really_ been Bronze make? He didn't know. But he supposed she would, she was the one who'd studied dragons at length. He was thrilled she'd loved it. Happy beyond belief.

And it had seemed natural just to kiss her in that moment, to bring her close, to hold her. She was the closest to happiness he had ever seen her yet.

For a moment he hadn't realised what he'd done, and she'd frozen up in his arms. He'd broken away, afraid he'd offended her but she'd only been startled.

He walked as if on air on the way to the park, the snowflakes skittering along the enchanted cobblestones and landing in neat heaps on either side. Katrana wore a long, dark robe with fuzzy sleeves, gloves protecting her beautiful hands. He wanted to hold them in his, feel their shape against his skin. They walked side by side in silence, just the way he liked it, her presence beside his like a faithful companion.

He could get used to that.

Ahead of them, Sam cradled her little one and chattered to Anduin, who was all bundled up. Maeqa and Foris took point, with the other two bodyguards walking behind them.

_Some_ people didn't get a vacation on Winter's Veil Day.

The deep snow of the park held swirling designs reminiscent of the whorls on Darnassian wood. Wisps drifted about, casting blue light. By their arrival the snow stopped falling, the last flakes sprinkled in their hair. Bolvar made a mental note to thank the mages personally.

"Andy!" called out a voice.

Myth crouched behind a wall of snow, bundled up in thick blue clothing with a scarf covering his neck and chin. "Hey, did you know Richard is really bad at throwing snow balls? Let's pelt him!"

Anduin grinned. "Aww, yeah!"

Myth jumped out and thrust his fists into the air, "Revenge is a dish best served _icy_ cold!"

"_Yeah!_"

Whooping and cheering, both boys ran.

The sheer amount of children was overwhelming. Some made snow forts, others pelted snowballs, all ran around with laughter ringing in the air. On the edge of the moonwell sat night elves plucking lyres, soft smiles on their faces as they watched. Even adults built snow forts and threw snowballs at one another. In the distance stretched long, empty tables and benches.

He smiled. The night elves did this every year. Why had he never come on the day before now?

Suddenly, an icy sensation slid down his back. He yelped and clawed at his back, squirming in surprise and wriggling. "Cold, cold, cold, cold!" he said, shaking out his clothing, shivering as snow fell in clumps to the ground. He whirled around. "Who — ?"

Katrana smirked at him deviously.

He gaped. "Did you just...?"

She laughed.

Gods, if only they were alone. He would have grabbed her and kissed her until she was breathless. Her laugh was intoxicating.

"Well!" he said, bending over to gather snow and compressing it into a ball. "If you _really_ want to play that game... hey, get back here, I can't hit you if you're moving, I'm a terrible throw..."

She stepped back, still smirking. "Now, why would I make it easy on you?"

"Of course not," he said, the snowball in the palm of his hand. "You _never_ make it easy..."

She grinned. She whipped a snowball from behind her back. Just his luck, she was a bloody accurate thrower.

Bloody _mage_.

… _His_ bloody mage, thank you very much.

Bolvar and Katrana threw snowballs at each other like children, until Myth and Anduin joined forces with Katrana to dump as much snow on Bolvar as possible. They listened to the music of the night elves, who told stories of an old man who wore snow as his cloak. They spoke to little Richard, whose parents had left him unsupervised as always. He seemed to still be scared of Katrana.

At the end of a long day the long tables deep within the park wafted with a mouth-watering scent. The night elves invited their guests to sit and help themselves. Anduin helped himself to a dish he seemed to recognise, chatting to Myth as he did so. Further along, Kair bounced baby Amandine on his knee. Richard sat opposite Anduin and Myth, listening to their conversation with uncharacteristic fascination. Maeqa and Foris stood behind the boys, trying to look casual and failing miserably, as the other two guards crouched on a nearby roof in stealth. Wisps drifted over the tables, illuminating the plates with a mythical blue light as night fell. Katrana's arm occasionally brushed his as she reached for food to fill her plate. He filled her glass for her with a glittering drink. He stole a moment to brush a lock of hair behind her ear.

Bolvar could not remember ever being so happy. Not since his parents were alive, not since before the Dark Portal opened.

Kair and Myth joined them on long walk back to the Keep. Kair was not quite strong enough to carry a boy Myth's age so Bolvar carried him instead as the night elven boy fell asleep against him. Katrana walked beside him in silence again.

"I do not suppose there would still be time for chess tonight?" said Katrana.

"There is always time for chess," he smiled.

They played long into the night, talking of books and snow and gifts. After, he finally dug into the book he'd longed to read since he'd opened it that morning. They read curled up on the chaise together, Katrana leaning against him. They felt no rush, and when the clock finally struck four in the morning and he finished his book, he realised she'd fallen asleep against him.

He smiled.

Life could not get any more perfect.

-o-O-o-

"Good," said Rudolphus. "You're home early."

Leo stared at his three guests. "Is there a particular reason you broke into my house?"

They'd made themselves at home, Leo saw. A lantern flickered on the table. Stephen Fletcher sat in a stiff-backed chair, reclining on its two back legs. Tariona White stood by the fireplace, gazing into it. Rudolphus, Leo's father, leaned against the wall with his knives at his hips.

"Right," said Leo. "Who's going to die, and why did you think I'd want to get involved?"

"You're a rogue, son," said Rudolphus. "About time you started acting like one."

"You weren't present at the assembly before Winter's Veil," said Tariona White, without turning. Her blonde hair looked orange in the firelight, sitting on her shoulders. "You wouldn't know about the Dragonbane testing."

"He won't speak a word," said Rudolphus. "Rogue's honour, even if he doesn't join us." He nodded to Fletcher. "Lord Fletcher here insisted upon your presence and involvement."

"I think it relevant to your interests if you were to participate," said Fletcher. "Only to a minimum, if you wish."

"The Dragonbane testing?" said Leo, looking up at Lady White. She held a poker in her slim fingers, nudging the logs in the fireplace. "What's that?"

"You have a friend in the Steppes, don't you, Leonardo?" said Fletcher.

Rudolphus locked the front door. Leo looked down at Fletcher. "Yes," he said. "I do. Reggie. He's been missing for a few weeks now and nobody's done anything about it."

"That's because the majority of the House of Nobles don't care what happens to Stormwind as long as they still get paid," said Fletcher. "Outside our walls, the Defias run rampant, the orcs barge into Redridge, and good people are abandoned in the Steppes by the people that sent them there."

The logs sparked as White jabbed at them. "And it's all because of _her_," she said.

"Ah," said Leo. "So you want to off Lady Prestor, then."

A sick thrill crept up his spine. He was supposed to be better than this. "Bolvar didn't abandon —"

"But he did," said Fletcher. "Because of _her_. She dangles him like a puppet on strings. He's weak minded. Easily influenced. Easily charmed. I once told you that sometimes to do good, you have to do bad. We're going to go nowhere if we do this peacefully. Sometimes, we have to kill to make things right. Sometimes we have to kill to save other lives. Pressuring the House of Nobles to take action in the surrounding zones will only waste time, while good people are slaughtered by the Defias, by murlocs, by orcs…" he waved a hand. "You may refuse to take a life out of principle, but if you do, many more will die."

"Lady Prestor never listens," said White. "She only cares about getting her own way, about her own riches. If not some ulterior motive."

"Dragonbane testing…?"

"It's something I proposed in the last week of assemblies," said White. Finally, she turned around, crossing her arms. "The Dragonbane herb that Windsor sent me has been given to Shaw. Cuttings have been taken, and distributed among a select group of people that he personally trusts. Those cuttings are going to be grown into plants, and from there they will be distilled into potions. My proposal was that these potions are to be used to test the entirety of the House of Nobles for hidden dragonspawn. And, if my suspicions are correct… Lady Prestor will not like this."

The air of the room seemed to grow much colder.

"You think she's dragonspawn," said Leo.

"I think she is connected to the Black Dragonflight in _some_ way or another," said Lady White. "Every single policy she has introduced, every single choice she has ever made has been a bad decision for the Kingdom of Stormwind. That can't be coincidence, even an idiot has to get it right sometimes. They say Fordragon has been talking to her more and more lately, and that has me worried. _Very_ worried. Have you noticed that their professional relationship is reminiscent of an abusive one?"

"How is that?"

"She's isolating him from his friends, Withering," said Lady White. "He barely speaks to anyone else in court. He barely speaks to_ me_ anymore. She's a poisonous presence, but when she was not at a meeting before Winter's Veil, it was obvious he wanted her there. And more than that? First she sends Reginald Windsor to the Steppes. His appearance is beyond mysterious, nobody even _mentions_ him anymore. Then you challenge his interests in her, and she's somehow managed to poison him against you. Everyone knows you three have been close since childhood. And what remains of that now?"

Leo pulled a chair from the table and sank into it. "Barely a thing," he said. "Lady White, I don't recognise him anymore. He doesn't talk to me. He doesn't _listen_."

"That's why we have to do something about this," said Fletcher. "This kingdom is falling apart at the seams and he's blind to it. We have to remove her. We have to kill her."

"But there's the Dragonbane," said Leo. "Why not use that to test her?"

"Because there's not nearly enough," said Tariona White. "It may be some months before we have enough to test enough people so as not to be suspicious. That's time we don't have. And because of that, we don't have the proof."

"Fletcher managed to find me last week," said Rudolphus. "I've been in the Keep occasionally, looking around, getting to know some of the guards. The Suicide Squad are exclusive, but I did learn from one of them that the Winter's Veil Ball on the eve of the new year will extend to the gardens. There are some roofs there that will be shielded by lights — from there, I can fire an arrow at Prestor. Easy said and done. If she's dragonspawn, we'll find out the moment she dies. If she's not, then we'll have removed an unwitting pawn of the Dragonflight and made Stormwind a little safer."

"And what if it doesn't?" said Leo. "Are you going to kill Bolvar too?"

"No," said Fletcher.

"Bolvar's innocent," said White. "A naïve, gullible idiot, but an innocent one."

"I do not take contracts out on my son's childhood friends," said Rudolphus. "I'd protect him as if he were my own son."

Was it Leo, or did the faintest smirk of satisfaction make itself known on Fletcher's face? "I don't doubt that," said Fletcher. He looked to Leo. "We have a job for you to do on the same night. It's a small one, but it may mean the difference between your father getting away safely and not getting away at all."

Leo gazed around him at the faces that stared back.

"Fine," he said. "What do you need me to do?"

* * *

_**A/N:** Anon Review Replies!_

**_JustMe:_**_ Repeat yourself as much as you like, I love seeing familiar faces at the end of each chapter. :D Thank you!_

**_Bitzithegnome:_**_ Write it, write it, write it! I want to read it! And yes, I admit to /hugging him whenever I see him in-game. I'm really fond of him now._

**_Ariaelyne: _**_I have difficulty with characterisation so reading that made me grin like an idiot. Thank you!_


	21. What The Night Brings

_**A/N:** A late update! Never fear, unless something comes up it shan't happen again. _

_I've been worrying for some time that every single chapter I put up is the one that makes everyone go "OH GOD THIS IS AWFUL" no matter what reviews say (yay anxiety, I'm sure all fanfic writers have felt some variation on this before) and it built up too much, so I took a week off to get some distance. Then my Dad went into hospital, eek. He's doing OK, but I'd appreciate good vibes. He wants to come home today but the docs might not let him, so we'll see how it goes._

_Anyway, I'm back, and it feels good to be back!_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty**

* * *

Stormwind burned.

It was like the First War all over again, but no orcs swarmed the ruined streets. Orange stained the sky, but Bolvar heard no screaming, no crying, no panicking. Ash floated on acrid smoke, the air searing from fire. Bolvar's eyes watered, the smoke choked his lungs. Ahead he saw the Keep stark against the sky, the stones bleached white. His neck seared with pain, but when he touched it nothing was there. The silhouettes of two enormous gargoyles hulked on a tower each, black against an orange canvas. He felt their ominous gazes pierce him.

"_Bolvar!_"

His heart caught in his throat and his eyes combed the ruins in front of him. "Reggie?"

"Bolvar!"

"Reggie!" he yelled. He started picking his way through the rubble, running as fast as he could towards the voice without tripping or stumbling over stones. "Where are you?"

"I'm over here," said a silent voice.

The stone in the courtyard of Stormwind Keep was pure white, barely smudged with any soot. Reginald Windsor stood by a fountain, his dead eyes staring at Bolvar, stiff in his armour. "You."

"Reg?" said Bolvar, taking a tentative step forward. Reginald's eyes narrowed through streaks of soot and scratches Bolvar could not remember that littered his face.

"I can't believe you left me here," said Reginald. "Left me in _their_ clutches. How could you?"

"What?" Bolvar choked.

"We were friends, Bolvar!" His bellow echoed against the walls of the Keep, amplified by the entire city and the empty sky. "Our entire lives we knew each other and you just _left_ me!"

"I can't send anyone after you, Reginald," said Bolvar, his heart tightening in his chest. "You wouldn't want people to die following you, _I know you_. It's best we leave the dragons alone — "

"And see what happened because of that!" Reginald gestured to the ruined city, his voice growing into a hysterical scream. "They're dead, all dead! _All of them._ She was right under your nose all along and everyone paid the price! I was just the beginning, Bolvar."

The orc invasion hadn't been like this. There had been chaos everywhere, not a deserted and haunting city…

So this was a dream. Only a dream. He exhaled in relief.

"I can't follow you, Reginald," said Bolvar, his lips barely moving in a murmur. "We can't follow you. How many more people must die —"

"Because of _her_?" said Reginald. His armour clinked as he pointed.

Bolvar looked over his shoulder.

And then he saw her.

He thought she was an oversized gargoyle at first, but now the dream etched and weaved her form in horrific detail. Two curved horns jutted into the air. White shards of stone flaked as her claws dug into them. Her yellow eyes seared him with malevolence, reflecting the fires and ruined buildings around Stormwind.

_He knew her._

But it was only a dream. The real Onyxia must surely be bigger than this; he'd never before seen so much as a drawing of her, but this couldn't be _real_.

And yet his mind painted a vivid picture down to the detailed purple scales on her hide, the loathing in her eyes and the distant scent of brimstone.

"How pathetic," said the second gargoyle.

Now _that_ was a dragon, a mammoth of a creature that threatened to topple the tower underneath him from his weight alone, twice the size of his twin. "Humans are such weak creatures," said Nefarian. "So tiny. So stupid. So crushable."

Bolvar couldn't tear his locked gaze from the female. He felt no fear. Only awe.

"You're not going to hurt me," he said.

She tilted her head. Her voice sounded familiar and yet he knew for a fact he had never heard it before. "Not yet," she said.

Her form glowed white. Her scales shimmered and wavered like ripples in a pond, shrinking.

"The enemy we cannot see threatens us more than the one we can," Reginald droned from behind him. "In the end, Bolvar, you _will_ see, and you'll wish you hadn't turned your back on all of us. I can only pray for the sake of everyone around you that by then it will not be too late."

He had held no fear of Onyxia as her white body shrunk and morphed. He had held no fear of the dragons that watched the two of them.

But at that moment, seeing Katrana Prestor step from where Onyxia had been shot a raw, cold bolt of terror through his chest.

-o-O-o-

The sides of his neck hurt when Bolvar awoke. He winced in pain, touching the skin. It burned underneath his fingertips.

What the hell? Did he _burn_ himself there, somehow? Why hadn't he woken?

The dream floated back to him in fragments, vivid and alive. Even now he could still smell the faint smell of smoke, could still see Onyxia's eyes fixed on his…

He looked down beside him, and for a moment he was confused as to why Kat lay curled up on the chaise beside him, sound asleep, before he remembered the events of Winter's Veil Day. A soft smile tugged at his lips.

At least they spoke with one another again, he'd missed her. But in the morning's light, untainted by the fantastical mystique of Winter's Veil, he pondered his actions with some guilt. He was a Highlord. He _shouldn't_ be off snogging one of his advisors.

But he'd missed her. He'd acted a complete fool by disregarding her apologies and brushing off all the progress she'd made, all the genuine changes she'd made to her treatment of others. He hadn't realised how much he'd come to enjoy their Friday chess games, how comforting her presence was to him when they simply read in silence. And —

_Reginald_.

Reginald had been in the background of his mind ever since his contact had stopped, but Bolvar had refused to confront it. And bloody hell, while he'd been enjoying Winter's Veil Day he'd forgotten about him. _What kind of friend was he?_ Guilt rotted in his chest.

Whilst he'd been acting like a child in the park, Franklin Windsor spent Winter's Veil without his little brother. Whilst he'd been pursuing his own possibly-unwise interests, somewhere Reginald's body rotted under a hot sun against scorched earth. If he was lucky. If he'd been captured by the Black Dragonflight…

The thought made him shudder.

Perhaps it couldn't hurt to send someone to find Reginald. Nobody need ever know. Entertaining the idea, he slipped away from Katrana as best as he could, but she still stirred as he padded out of his study and towards the bathroom.

The mirror shone the dawn light in his eyes that crept in through a tiny window. He squinted at his reflection.

What the _hell?_

The burns circled his neck like some kind of grotesque necklace, but he _never_ wore jewellery. He unbuttoned his shirt and squinted at his chest. He couldn't quite see the burn on his sternum, but it was there. Was he half blind? Going longsighted? No black, no white, _nothing_. He brushed at it, and for a moment he saw a clear red circle in his skin, hot to the touch.

Then the patch of nothing returned.

Was he still in a dream?

He heard movement from his study and, puzzling over it, returned. He half expected to see a dragon in there, for Onyxia to return to his subconscious to tear him apart, but it was only Katrana crouched beside the burnt-out fireplace. She nudged the half-dead embers in the fireplace with a poker.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It is no matter," said Katrana, rising. Feeble flames returned to life in front of her, licking at half-burned logs. "I must return to my quarters and intrude no longer. Do have a good night, High — Bolvar."

When she turned around, Bolvar frowned. On an impulse he stepped closer, touching her neck. "You're burned. Like me. What _happened_? How did that happen?"

Katrana frowned and touched her throat.

A brief moment passed. His skin felt warm. Thoughts drifted in his head but when he reached out nothing was there.

Then she said, "How did what happen?"

… What was he doing? Why was he touching her?

He drew his hand back. "I… pardon?"

"How did what happen?" said Katrana again. She did not look confused.

Bolvar blinked. "I… _what?_ What are you talking about, Kat?"

"I think you are still half-asleep, Bolvar," she said, touching his cheek. It was a simple brush of her fingertips, and then the contact was gone. "Still dreaming." Her frown deepened. "I must go. Good night, Bolvar."

"I…" what time _was_ it? Some part of Bolvar told him he knew, but he couldn't remember. "Yes, I think I need more sleep. You look a bit tired too."

She gave him a nod before she left. "Good night, then."

What the heck just _happened?_

An odd dream, right. Something about Onyxia, of all creatures. How odd, that his mind had conjured such details when he hadn't even seen pictures of her. And there was Nefarian, and…

_Reginald_.

Reginald had been in the background of his mind ever since his contact had stopped, but Bolvar had refused to confront it. And bloody hell, while he'd been enjoying Winter's Veil Day he'd forgotten about him. _What kind of friend —_

A jarring sense of deja vu settled over Bolvar.

He shook himself.

Kat was right, he _did_ need more sleep. He'd think about all this after he'd had sufficient rest.

He'd take the passage through to his room and collapse on his own bed. He'd be fine after more rest. The day before had taken a lot out of him, apparently. He hoped Fletcher enjoyed the discussion they had the night before, though when Bolvar prodded his memory further he couldn't recall what they discussed.

His throat heated again. His body reacted to damaged skin with pain, crying for the mind's acknowledgement.

It went ignored.

-o-O-o-

Every single move Katrana would make would be with the care of a builder, every half-smile a brick, every word a cobblestone. Without the smaller actions, the bigger structure would not hold.

She would fake it all.

A laugh to make him feel easier around her. A brush against his cheek. He enjoyed the small touches, and she put aside her repulsion to do them whilst they'd been at the park, and he seemed to thrive on it. What an emotional creature he was. She'd always thought males were supposed to be more stoic than females, but perhaps it was merely cultural and not biological.

Before he fell asleep she implanted the false memories, Fletcher's alibi. The Winter's Veil Ball was just under another week from now, and then the next phase of the plan could go underway.

She had not counted on the side effects. Before, the medallion had merely made it easy to eavesdrop on his thoughts, but it had never grown _this_ bad. The boosted power strengthened the link between them, burned him as he slept as it grew hot. And if the amulet had heated…

Then it had been acting of his own volition.

But _what_ had it done? Had it something to do with their dreams? There had been something alien about the dream she'd had, as if she had not been the dreamer, as if someone else's unconscious had bled into her own. Perhaps during their sleep the link had blown wide open. Like how one stood while conscious, she kept the connection closed without thinking, but during sleep her efforts collapsed with nothing to hold them in place.

As Katrana returned to her own office and finished her letter to Ebonaria, she pondered on it. She could feel the link now pressing in on her. Distantly her awareness registered Fordragon falling back to sleep, and decided that sleeping at the same time he did was much too dangerous.

And yet, it was unavoidable. Her sleep was ruined enough as it was without the solid eighteen hours a week she needed. She did not have time to sleep in the day. He'd have the dreams, _they_ would have the dreams, at least twice a week.

It helped that, long ago, she'd planted the order for him not to notice the medallion's existence, or the existence of her own. It was not a stretch to have him ignore the burns the same way. With luck, no one else would press the issue and become suspicious of his programmed response to questions.

She opened her drawer and pulled out another sheaf of paper, getting to work copying the first letter. In spite of the risk, she kept a meticulous record of all the orders she sent in case she needed to refer to them. So far, Romathis had not disturbed her Brood again, but Ebonaria stood vigilant.

Katrana felt it would not last long. What was his plan? Why did he creep around behind her back with his secrets? Was this some kind of test?

-o-O-o-

The next night, Amandine would not settle.

Rocking had little effect, a warm bath failed to soothe her, and soft singing went interrupted by Amandine's ear-splitting cries. The baby had no temperature or sickness, but by the time the clock struck two Sam had had enough. She returned Amandine into her crib and sat in a stiff chair in the main room with her palms planted over her ears.

She'd never hurt Amandine, _ever_, but now she understood why some mothers snapped. Of all the challenges in her life, taking care of a baby was the worst. She'd looked after younger rogues on the street, taught them to steal and beg, but they'd always been old enough to be independent if the worst happened to her. Amandine _needed_ her. She wasn't a five-year-old that knew how to put food in her mouth and snatch things off the side of a stall in the marketplace.

Nobles thought five was too young even for that, but nobles didn't know a damned thing about fighting tooth and nail for survival. Just as Sam didn't know a damned thing about taking care of babies.

But she knew how to do things alone.

She'd never thought she'd be anything _but_ a single parent, if she would ever become pregnant. It was far from rare for contraceptive potions to fail and for whores to fall pregnant, and a lot of them kept the child. Sam spent many years of her life surrounded by single mothers, strategically disappearing if one needed help with their young. She never thought she'd end up with a husband even when she caught Norris's eye, so the thought of having someone else get up to feed the young one from a bottle remained an unattainable fantasy.

Even more so now she already had a child, but at this stage she'd settle for an arranged marriage if it meant someone else dealt with it from time to time!

Amandine sniffled and sobbed in the other room. Sam's being stretched between guilt, despair and irritation. Perhaps Amandine lay on the brink of yet another damn illness. She'd had a fever last week, a cold the week before, and Sam wasn't surprised if the childhood illnesses lined up at their door and hit the child all at once at some point. But Sam had given Mandy the medicine Horan Bronzewing had given her last week and it had little effect.

But what did she expect? Since when had anything _ever_ gone well?

Life did not work that way for Samantha Inkweaver. She'd thought things picked up when Norris came into her life, but then life screamed _just kidding!_ and ripped the carpet from underneath her feet again. Apparently Life thought eighteen-year-old single parents were hilarious.

This was nothing new. True, Katrana had been kind to her, but it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. What would it be this time? Would Anduin run away again and have her fired? Would Norris find some way to take Mandy away from her? Would Katrana get sick of her presence?

The kitchen lay shrouded in darkness, stacks of bowls lurking in the sink like some fearsome monster. Sam hadn't slept all night, and she still had to look after Anduin and Mandy in the morning, and perhaps Myth too. She sank to the floor, resting her back against a cupboard, forehead on her knees. How would she cope? Every day all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep forever.

Sam didn't know how to live in this world, only how to survive. She was a child raised by children, a child raising another child. They'd taught her to steal, how to trick a man, how to please one. They'd never taught her about employment, or how to spell. Sam faked most things.

And yet she still annoyed everyone around her. Granted, it wasn't hard to annoy Katrana Prestor, but sometimes Anduin was a little too short with her and the nobles sneered as she walked by and Fordragon seemed annoyed if she asked him too many questions or spoke to him too often. Had she been too personal, perhaps? Was it bad ethics to make chitchat with your employer? She couldn't remember if you were supposed to make friends with them or not.

She pulled herself to her feet. On a sudden impulse she opened the top drawer and sat on the bench. She lay a kitchen knife across her knees. It glinted in dim light.

How _pathetic_.

She didn't even _feel_ miserable, only apathetic, viewing her circumstances with detachment, so why did she act like an angsty teenager? She used to get depressed, years ago, but eventually life's hard edges wore it away. She worked like the clockwork boat Bolvar had given Anduin for Winter's Veil, merely winding herself up and then doing her daily jobs until she was done. Life was hard, she knew that, but it was hard for everyone. She felt as if her entire mind had calloused. Underneath, she suffocated without air.

Amandine still cried. Sam put the knife back, filled with self disgust.

She was irrational. Just a stupid whore who couldn't do anything right. She should check on Amandine again, just hold her until she went to sleep at whatever _fucking_ hour that would be, and then Sam herself could go to sleep. She wouldn't mind not waking up, if sleep's darkness just took her into a gentle embrace and never let go. She'd only ever had bad luck. She was tired of it.

But Kair had been kind to her. He'd offered her his help. And it was only a few hours from dawn, but right now Sam ached for a warm room with light and someone else to hold the little one for a while. It was the middle of the night, but…

At this stage, exhausted and dragging her feet, she couldn't bring herself to care. She didn't even feel guilty for not caring. She was just _done_.

-o-O-o-

"Do not look so surprised," Kair said, when Sam knocked on his door to find him wide awake. "My kind are nocturnal, remember. Ah, come in, allow me to light a candle for you, I know your kind do not see well in the dark… is the little one alright?"

"She won't stop crying," said Sam. Her voice threatened to break. _She_ was the adult, she shouldn't be the one weeping! "I've tried everything, I can't…"

"Shh," said Kair, taking the infant from her arms. He looked down at her. "She feels warm. A fever."

Tears of frustration prickled Sam's eyes with heat. "She didn't have a temperature five minutes ago!"

Shuffling the infant in his arms, Kair balanced her in one arm and touched Sam's forehead. "That would be because you have one as well," he said. "I fear the stress has gotten to you. Raising a child alone is difficult, though I never knew Myth when he was that young." He rocked the child, oblivious to her screeches. "It is best to keep an eye on her, in any case. Could I trouble you to brew some tea for the two of us while I attempt to soothe her?"

"Alright."

"The tea leaves are beside the basin."

Sam filled the kettle, put it over the fire and hunted for the little tin of tea. Amandine's cries died down to hiccoughing sobs as Kair rocked her. Of course, she'd settle for _him_, and not for her own mother. Sam heard not a peep from Myth. Perhaps children had better luck with turning their sleep cycles upside down.

"I did something stupid earlier," Sam confessed.

"Mmm?" said Kair.

"Almost sliced my damn arms up," she muttered. "Talk about mental."

Kair looked up in soft surprise. Sam turned away to avoid his eyes, dark in the dim light. "Why would you do that?"

"Hell if _I_ know," Sam snapped. She breathed in. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take this out on you."

"You feel hopeless," said Kair. It wasn't a question. "Why else would you do it?"

Ahh, her friend, the night elf therapist.

"I just wasn't thinking," said Sam. "I don't even _feel_ unhappy. Things are tough, but…" she shook her head. "Pathetic, isn't it? When life chucks you lemons and all that. I shouldn't be wallowing in misery. I'm not even unhappy. Just... tired."

"You want to rest."

"Gods, yes," said Sam. As the kettle started to whistle she snatched it off the stove with a tea towel before it could disrupt Amandine's sleep. "Times like this I miss my mother. She died _ages_ ago."

"And your father?"

"Never knew him," said Sam. "If I knew someone who did I could ask what happened to him, but my mother died before she could tell me. He might still be alive out there somewhere, or he might have left my mother a widow. I don't know." And like the boiling water into the cups in front of her, her words spilled from her before she could stop them. "After she died I didn't have anyone to take me in so I just scrounged around, looked after myself, made friends who got me into... a certain business. Then Norris, and now I'm here. It wasn't fun. Wasn't fun at all." She offered Kair a cup, before she remembered the child. "Oh, um. I'll just take these into the main room, then?"

Kair nodded with a faint smile. He followed her through as she put the tea cups down with a delicate chink against the glass surface of the table. "I wonder what happened to my mother's blackwhelp," she murmured.

"I hear you like dragons," said Kair.

In here, next to Kair and surrounded by fluttering candles, her problems seemed so tiny. So far away. Amandine slept on, and would likely sleep for a while. Thank the Light.

"I find them fascinating," said Sam, sitting into an armchair. She blew on her tea, watching the steam curl in the air. "My mother used to tell me fairy tales about fairies and dragons and knights, and she had that little pet whelp. The whelp was a savage little thing, not like Jettion. Though he snaps a fair bit." Talking, yammering on like this helped her fragile nerves. And Kair, smiling as if he wasn't quite paying attention, didn't seem to mind. Already she felt herself settle down like little Amandine had. "Speaking of which, have you heard much about the dragonbane testing?"

"Mmm, I've heard nobles discussing it in the library," said Kair. Ah, so he _was_ paying attention. "They are worried, should one develop an allergy to it they would not want to be killed for it. Times are getting very tense, and we do not want this to turn into a witch hunt. If one should voice valid concerns they would only be accused of having... scaly leanings."

_That_ was certainly a way to put it. "Do you know who's getting tested?" said Sam.

Kair sipped at his tea, Amandine snug and silent in the crook of his arm. "They're still growing the plant, I hear," said Kair. "It will be some time before there is enough to test everyone. They are mainly occupied with testing the highest tiers of nobles, along with visiting diplomats. There are rumours that dragonspawn have already infiltrated the Keep and replaced nobles. Fearmongering, I hope. And there's also the rumours that there have been a few posing as us for some time."

"Well," said Sam. "That's silly. They would've had to be here for years, then, if not longer, and we would've noticed by now."

Kair shrugged. "Dragons can live a long time," he said. "The dragon Nefarian is believed to be ten thousand odd years or so. Deathwing was over sixty thousand."

"Wow," said Sam. "So why isn't the planet crawling with them? They lay dozens of eggs in a clutch, so I've heard, so you'd think they would outnumber us."

Kair tilted his head. "The Black Dragonflight caused quite a scuffle, I hear. The only knowledge we have of the Dragonflights is through what the Green Flight tells the night elves, and even then they do not tell us much. Aside from that we have only mythology to go on. They tell us the Black Flight are just as evil to the other Flights as they are to us."

"Except they don't seem too interested in us."

"I certainly hope so," said Kair with a frown. "One never knows. When I was in the Dream a dragon told me a story about the Black Flight. Apparently they are a violent society that would feed upon each other soon as they smell blood in the water. It is vicious, to say the least."

"Jettion's relatively docile."

"Indeed," smiled Kair. "Like an endearing pet, though we must remember he is a child with scales. Dragons are far more intelligent than we are."

"And yet Lady Prestor disagrees."

"And you do not, by the look on your face." Kair tilted his head. "Perhaps she merely compares them with _her_ intelligence. From what I have heard she is quite intelligent herself and tends to think most people... not so much."

"_That's_ an understatement," sighed Sam. She sipped her tea, swishing it around her mouth in thought before she swallowed to ask, "So what happens if Dragonbane turns out to be poisonous in the long-term?"

"Then we would be quite unlucky," said Kair. Amandine stirred and made a quiet noise.

"Well," said Sam. "Fordragon and Lady Prestor see too much of me, so they'd notice if I was replaced by a Dragonspawn, so I shouldn't get tested, what with Amandine and all. "

"Not necessarily," said Kair. "Dragons have produced mortal young in the past when — "

Amandine hiccoughed in the beginning stages of another fully-blown crying fit. Kair chuckled, holding her close. "No, young one, I doubt your mother is a dragon." He frowned. "Perhaps it would be prudent to take her to the healer in the morning. I hear there's a new one…"

"Horan Bronzewing, yes," said Sam. "Amandine's already made his acquaintance twice." She sighed.

"There may be an underlying problem if her illnesses persist," said Kair. He didn't even flinch as Amandine's cries grew louder. Samantha caught a peeping face behind a cracked door, but when Myth caught her eye the door closed and she heard feet pattering away. Perhaps Myth did not sleep so easily after all. "Samantha, allow me to take care of the young one tonight and get some rest."

Samantha's heart lurched in guilt. "Are you sure? I don't want to intrude, and you haven't had any sleep either —"

"I have, as a matter of fact," said Kair. "More than you will have if you go to bed now and sleep the rest of the night. Myth and I often sleep straight after work. I will take Amandine by before I am due at the library, if you wish, and wake you. But you're falling ill, Samantha."

"I feel fine."

"For now, indeed," said Kair. "And you need rest. You _must_ take care of yourself, Samantha, even if you were not to be ill and I am offering my assistance. You will feel less… self destructive… if you allow yourself small luxuries during stressful times." He frowned. "You were right to come to me. My door is always open if you wish to talk."

"Distracting myself helped," Sam smiled. "Thank you, Kair. I'll see you in a few hours, then."

"Dream well, my friend."

There was something gentle about Kair, something non-threateningly. For the first time, she felt as if a friendship wasn't a mess waiting to happen.

Perhaps things would look up after all. She couldn't forget the light because the shadows were so deep.

But outside of Kair's room, surrounded by literal darkness once again, she felt her old worries close in on her.

She pushed them away.

She would endure. She always had.

* * *

_**A/N:** As always, thank you for the reviews!_

**_Kai:_**_ Big. Scaly. Dragon! Ha, I'm not easily squicked so I don't even bat an eyelid writing it, lol._

**_Anduril:_**_ Apologies for the late update, I hope this satisfies! Thank you. :)_

**_JustMe:_**_ Relationships of all kind are something I struggle to write, I'll do my best to fix what looks iffy and prevent iffiness from happening in the future. If I didn't hate retconning I'd redo that chapter, actually. Thanks!_

**_Coincidencless:_**_ We shall see what happens to her very soon..._


	22. Dancing Dragonkin

_**A/N:** The Winter Veil Ball we've all been waiting for..._

_Apologies to Seripithus, who may be scarred for life by the latter half of this chapter. OH GOD I'M SORRY. Had it planned since before you mentioned the person you know IRL..._

_Thank you to all the well-wishers! My Dad is home and well. He's still a little ill but he's doing much better than he was when he went into hospital._

**_Warnings:_**_ This chapter may trigger some people for containing homophobia. Also contains acceptance of non-straightness, and if you take issue with this I urge you to read the A/N at the bottom of the chapter._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty One**

* * *

What did New Year's Eve mean for Azeroth?

_Obviously_, the opportunity to cram all of Brewfest into one day, starting the second the sun rose.

"Y'gotta remember," one drunk slurred at Samantha when she took a walk that morning. "Brewfest isn't until Septober, so we gotta take advantage!"

"It's Octember," said Samantha, straining to keep in her laughter. "Brewfest is in _Octember_."

The drunk grinned. "Yeah, that! 'Ey, wait a sec…"

She returned to find the maids and cooks bustling about the Keep like busy ants tending to a queen. _They_ didn't have a day off today like Samantha. At the smell of cooking food her mouth watered. Was it time for the banquet yet?

But the day stretched into eternity before the sunset, heralding the first blooms of the hourly fireworks. Kair pried Amandine from Sam's arms, who'd recovered from yet another fever. "Go to the ball tonight," said Kair. "Enjoy yourself. Indulge yourself. She will be here in the morning, do not fear."

And so Samantha stood to one side, fingering an empty flute, the taste of champagne still in her mouth as she watched the dancers swirl around her in their coloured skirts. Compared to the preened nobles she felt ratty. A sky splattered with stars stretched above, half-obscured by magelights captured in orbs. Backed by circular mirrors the lights perked on the edges of the roofs, obscuring what lay behind.

Nobody had asked her to dance. At the thought, Samantha snorted. Who in their right minds _would_? Even the Suicide Squad were out and about tonight, dancing with, of course, only each other. Samantha counted one woman gone, leaving two out of three remaining men to resort to dancing with each other rather than the nobility. Samantha tried _not_ to hoot in laughter at the horrified gazes the dark-haired men attracted. What made it even more hilarious was the solemn, unsmiling faces of the Squad members in question, as if they thought nothing of it. Katrana Prestor and the Suicide Squad were the only ones who didn't even give it a second glance.

She _would_ laugh aloud if Katrana Prestor dismembered her dance partner, Lord Fletcher. From the look on the woman's face the idea grew more and more appealing by the moment. When it didn't happen, Samantha converged on the only member of the Suicide Squad not dancing.

"Zach Davies, isn't it?" she said. The dark-haired man beside her, his hair sitting in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, scowled. "I remember you. You brought Anduin over to the infirmary after his little unsanctioned trip around Stormwind."

"Indeed," said Davies, looking unimpressed. He watched his compatriots dance. "'Tis I. I trust the evening is to your satisfaction?"

His eyebrow cocked as a noblewoman turned around and dropped a glass upon catching sight of the male couple.

"They get pissy over nothing, don't they?" said Sam.

"It surprises me," said Davies. "With all the political sex scandals that go around, it surprises me that they are so shocked at the thought of two men dancing together, though apparently not so much as to kick up an enormous fuss."

He obviously wasn't from around here. Sam shrugged. "The mercenaries aren't bothered by it, and neither are a lot of people who aren't nobles."

"I wonder why that is."

"Nobles are big on continuing the family line," said Sam.

"And commoners aren't?"

Sam bristled at _commoners_. "Well, yes, I mean, they pass on businesses down family lines and all that but it's pretty easy to pick up a sword and become a mercenary if your family kicks you out, and mercenaries in general are a diverse lot, what with the night elves and travelling all over the place."

"Fascinating," said Davies. Sam glanced up at him, expecting sarcasm, but Davies's brow furrowed in genuine interest. "And what if the two men that dance together are not lovers, nor interested in such?"

"… Why would they dance with each other, then?"

"Because there are only three women in the Suicide Squad, and one is not attending tonight."

"Why not dance with _other_ women, then?"

"I believe their exact reasoning was, 'Because we can.'" His eyes sparked with mischief. "The men in question enjoy… _annoying_ the residents, though they typically possess more subtlety. Please refrain from reporting that reasoning to Lady Prestor, she would not be amused."

"Huh," said Sam. "So the Suicide Squad _do_ have a sense of humour. They have balls, let me tell you."

"Being anatomically inclined towards the male sex, yes, they do."

Sam laughed, though Davies looked confused. "What I _mean_ is, expect them to be hassled for a while about it."

"Nobody hassles the Suicide Squad," said Davies.

He was right. Most people were too creeped out to go _near_ them. "But, well, won't people cause trouble? There's a couple of nobles over there looking like they're _really_ going to throw a fit later…"

Davies shrugged. "Lady Prestor is the only person with authority over our jobs, not even the Highlord can put us in trouble without her permission, he signed that away." He sipped at his drink. "She is quite accepting of different cultures." Sam wasn't sure she believed that, but he continued. "Where I come from, in Tanaris, it is not unusual for two individuals of the same sex to form a deep bond and consummate it in an alliance to protect one another and their families, not unlike marriage."

"I didn't know people lived in Tanaris."

"Yes," said Davies. "The descendants of long-ago explorers that found themselves shipwrecked with no way to get home."

"_Oh_," said Sam. "So a couple of you are from there, then?"

"Indeed," said Davies. "Our normal is merely a different normal. Most people do not understand that."

"Makes sense," said Sam with a tilt of her head.

Then Zach drained his glass. "Excuse me," he said. "I must go elsewhere."

He left Samantha blinking. In the sea of dancers Sam observed the three couples in the Suicide Squad break up and scatter. The song hadn't even finished yet.

That was _odd_.

-o-O-o-

Her father taught her how to dance long ago, and it was that memory she drew on as she allowed Fletcher's wretched claws to clutch her close.

Where the fel had the_ dragonspawn_ received the same treatment? The image of Romathis teaching his dragonspawn how to ballroom dance almost had her smiling. Almost.

With Rivers' and Winters' absence, the rest of the Suicide Squad paired up and left Zach Davies on the side, though Katrana would have to scold the male dragonspawn who drew attention to themselves. She anticipated complaints from the nobility who were less than amused by this.

At least Samantha Inkweaver looked interested, speaking to Davies. Katrana glanced their way when her situation permitted it, and to her surprise Davies appeared to open up to the human. But then, Davies, one of the more social dragonspawn, possessed more skill with mingling than the others did. He better not be compromising them.

She longed for the song to end. She felt nauseous with the Scalebane's close proximity, wishing it was Omnarion instead, or even Fordragon, anything over Evenian. Fordragon looked just as amused by her partner. More than once she caught his eye over Lady White's shoulder. The second time he smiled.

Over the last few week she grew used to the changed status of their relationship, learning to push aside her revulsion when he kissed her in secret and no longer stiffening at the faint touches he gave her. But what was easy to start was not easy to keep up, as any human who attempted new habits knew, and when her mask slipped and her discomfort showed he gave her more distance.

Thank the _Titans_.

But aside from the touches and the complications with the medallion, things had not changed at all. He still buried himself in fiction in her presence and refused to read without her company, how odd, and stepped up his game in chess. "You play too defensively," he told her one night. "Stop fretting about protecting your pieces, or you'll never win a game."

The medallion became a blessing in disguise. Their minds grew closer entwined, and though she disguised her own thoughts she dipped in and out of his own, undetected, with no trouble. Thanks to it she anticipated trouble. She knew that Bolvar had doubts as to whether his decision was a right one, that he worried about smothering her, that he had trouble anticipating her thoughts.

… Surely the song would end _soon_?

Katrana lowered her tone to a murmur. "Everything is in place, I trust?"

"Of course," said Fletcher. "We merely await the signal."

"And then I wait."

"Indeed." Fletcher frowned, lowering his voice. "Your human is glaring at me."

"He is not _my_ human," said Katrana. "Ignore him. I will speak with him on the matter of subtlety later."

"You are successful at your job, then, which is… _fortunate_."

She told Fletcher and Rivers before of her plan regarding Bolvar's affections after the former detected his scent on her, though she had stressed she had no intentions of mating with him. Both looked sickened at the news and Fletcher snarled, but Rivers asserted that "What must be done, must be done." Omnarion understood when certain measures must be taken.

Some days, Katrana felt concerned he was _too_ humanlike.

"We will have a problem soon," said Fletcher. "However, I have a plan." His frown deepened. "You will not like it."

"There are few plans involving those around us I _do_ like," said Katrana. "What is it?"

A high pitched ring pierced her hearing. Both dragonkin flinched. Around them, the humans danced on, oblivious.

The Suicide Squad winced as one, stepping away from their partners and scattering, schooling their expressions. Fletcher waited a moment longer for the song to finallyend, then bowed. Katrana nodded back at him as he swept away to ask Lady White to dance.

Her senses stretched in a taut line, waiting, trying to avoid looking at the rooftops around the courtyard. The Suicide Squad members nearby glanced at her in anticipation.

_They're going to kill you_. _Maria Winters will shoot you. You're fragile in this form. They're taking advantage of it. Romathis wants to kill you._

She snorted in derision. If they shot her here her form would be revealed with her death and jeopardise _everything_. Romathis was not _that_ stupid.

She pushed aside the unnerving voice. Ever since that flashback…

Still, why did the Squad scatter as they did? Most went down the hall, and a handful remained vigilant, heads cocked to one side as if listening for something, but Katrana could hear nothing above the music and chatter of other guests. Katrana could not recall the Squad being involved in the plan, save Winters and Rivers…

A shiver crept down her spine. Fear squeezed her heart in a tight hand.

"Lady Prestor." Katrana snapped from her reverie to see Bolvar approach. "A dance?"

She tilted her head, pretending to consider. She waited for the arrow to whiz by her head, to bounce off the stone beneath her, but none came. After the moment stretched on too long to be comfortable, she said, "Of course."

Bolvar's green eyes glowed at her with a smile as he placed a hand on her waist and took her hand. Far away, an enormous clock bonged and fireworks exploded in the sky with the hour. "Only a few hours until the new year," he said. He sobered. "Hopefully it will be a better year than this one was."

"Indeed," she said. She did not mind the human's touch as much as Evenian's, but then, the human had never unnerved her the way the dragonspawn did. Perhaps the connection between their minds helped. His mind buzzed with quiet thoughts, worrying if his presence made her nervous, if she wanted this, if perhaps he scared her somehow…

Fool.

Not him. _Her_, for being so distant. She was _supposed_ to appear as if she enjoyed this.

Her long red skirts swirled around her legs. Out of boredom, she listened to his mind as he relaxed in the silence. He _enjoyed_ the silence, he relaxed in relief to know he didn't have to yap on and _on_ like most nobles would want. Her presence comforted him for the breath of fresh air it provided, though she noted a small part of him fixed wary eyes on her behaviour and questioned his wisdom, concerned she would turn hostile once again.

He doubted his impulsive behaviour the week before. With that knowledge she stepped closer to him. The thoughts evaporated, and she felt, rather than saw, him smile.

It was bearable.

She allowed the silence between them to stretch on, the music dictating their movements as it wrapped around them. Perhaps the close proximity of their minds was not a curse; being able to listen and gauge his responses towards her with ease bore her unparalleled advantage.

His thoughts drifted from doubts to a book they had both read and his theories regarding a yet-to-be-released volume when she heard a distant thump from the roofs. Did Winters encounter a problem? Why had she given the signal if she had? She frowned.

… Was Bolvar in danger? Only then did Onyxia realised that by shooting Bolvar as they danced, the dragonkin could kill two birds with one stone. With Bolvar's death and White's incarceration, she would become Regent Lady —

"Are you alright?" said Bolvar.

She'd tensed in his hold. "I thought I heard something." Oh, curse it, she'd intended to lie but remembered the sound from the roofs too late.

Bolvar blinked, glancing up and around them. "Heard what?"

"I am certain it is nothing." It _should_ be.

But Katrana's stomach churned as the song ended and Bolvar stepped away, waiting for a fatal missile to strike him in the head. After a moment's awkward pause, Katrana remembered human etiquette and curtseyed. He returned the gesture with a nod and moved off, still glancing up at the roof.

Nothing happened.

Nothing continued to happen.

What took Winters so _long_?

Then it happened, but not the disturbance she expected.

She heard a grunt, and then a man fell onto the grass from the roof of the nearby walkway. Dancers around them stopped and blinked. He blinked back at them.

At least Winters had been sure to disguise herself, but _this_ had not been intended…

Then he ran.

-o-O-o-

The lights blared down onto the scene below, hiding Rudolphus behind them as he crept along the tiles of the roof, his leather-clad feet silent against the tiles. He clutched a dirty rag in one hand and an uncorked vial in the other. He upended the vial and pressed it to the cloth, sticking the cork back in as he approached his prey. He sprang, pressing the rag to his victim's face and waiting for them to slump before he shoved them to safety and continued on his way.

That was only the second SI:7 agent he caught. Strange, he thought there'd be more.

When he almost tripped over a body, he thought he'd made a wrong turn. But this agent bore a bloody head. He was not alone? He winced, but it wasn't his problem. Perhaps Lady Prestor had managed to annoy someone else too, in which case he got paid without doing the deed. Not bad.

He kept all identifying objects at home, only a fool would not. He wore no jewellery, held nothing in his pockets but tools he needed on the job, and he'd even hand made his bow and arrows. If he had to abandon it, a vendor-made one could easily be identified and traced back to him.

And the last thing he needed was for Leo to be incriminated. Kicking the hornet's nest was bad enough, getting caught doing it would be worse. If he failed…

There she was. Below, Prestor scowled as she danced with the man who'd arranged her murder.

He pulled an arrow out of his quiver. They broke away from one another.

Rudolphus heard something and froze. His eyes probed the roofs around him.

Laying on her belly in the shadow behind a light, Rudolphus made out the figure of a woman, short dark hair curled behind her ears. What a _fool_. She didn't have a scarf over her mouth, or a hood, or anything to avoid being recognised.

And recognise her Rudolphus did. Whilst he'd investigated the Keep for entrances and exits, he'd heard her captain addressing her by name — Winters. She stood guard in the throne room, one of the fabled Suicide Squad.

As he observed her she fished for a whistle in her pockets and blew.

No sound. A dog whistle, then?

Below a handful of couples broke apart as if on command, whilst around them the dance went on. As one glanced into the sky he recognised the face of a nameless Squad member, before stepped away from view. Rudolphus hadn't been seen. The lights hid him.

Had they _heard_, somehow? Everyone who moved was a part of the Suicide Squad, the same dark heads he'd seen that day in the throne room.

But how could they hear it?

A cold feeling sank into him.

There was something wrong here, something horribly wrong.

Winters shoved the whistle into a pocket and readied her bow. Abandoning his immediate plan to get his job over with Rudolphus crept along the roof as best as he could, keeping out of her peripheral vision as she aimed. Was she here to kill Prestor, too? Winters pulled back the bowstring with unnatural strength to her ear, holding the arrow in place.

No.

The arrow was aimed at someone else. A brown-haired man who approached Lady Prestor with a hopeful smile, who put his hand on her waist after a beat and —

Oh, gods. Not _Bolvar_. The boy had been as good as a son to him in Lordaeron for as long as he'd needed Rudolphus.

By now most archers would have begun to shake with the sheer strength it took to keep back the bowstring, but not Winters —

Prestor could wait.

He ran and slammed into Winter's side. The arrow sailed harmlessly over the gardens, but instead of rolling into the courtyard below she scrabbled up the sloping roof in silent shoes. He drew his dagger and leapt at her, but she flittered away with a smile.

"Welcome," she said.

She had to die, _now_.

He pulled out his bow, still clutching the knife with the hand that held the bow ready as he notched an arrow. He released, but against all odds Winters dodged. The arrow burst into flames and disintegrated in the air, ash blowing away in the breeze as the arrowhead struck another roof, red-hot.

_What the hell?_

With unnatural speed she caught up to him and dodged a knife strike, ripping his scarf from his face.

"Rudolphus Withering," she said. "My mistress sends her regards."

_How did she know him?_ He'd never introduced himself to her on that day!

Cold horror sank into Rudolphus. His dagger clanged against hers. How had she even _drawn_ it so fast? They held together, struggling for dominance. "Prestor wants to kill Fordragon, then?" He snarled.

And like the typical villain, Winters smiled. "Of course she does. She would be a fool if she didn't. And she will go after the Witherings as well. Your son has long proven a thorn in her side." Her dagger rang as she ripped it away.

His ribs cracked under her superhuman shove. He was helpless to catch himself and fell over the edge and onto the grass that awaited him. He gasped, winded.

He looked up to meet the stunned eyes of Lady Prestor and the other dancers.

_Shit_.

Guards peeled away from the walls, starting towards him. Did he have enough time to run to her and stab her? No, he'd dropped his knife in the fall.

Screw it, he wasn't going to die for this. Winters had identified him, she had to die. If he was lucky, none of the dancers had.

_Shit!_

He sprinted from the courtyard and into a corridor, the clanking of armour hot on his heels. When a member of the Squad met him in there he turned and tore down the main corridor, threatening to skid on the white and blue slope that shone in the light. Once he thundered into open air he ran across the cobbles and used momentum to carry him over a wall and onto a roof.

People followed him. They weren't guards. He saw them beneath in the streets, the moon illuminating their hair and faces as they looked up at him. _How did they run so fast?_

"Hello again!" called a chipper voice ahead of him, and he saw a grin. Maria Winters flitted from roof to roof as if she'd spent her childhood upon them. He knew she could go faster, that she taunted him. He hopped over cramped alleyways after her and sprinted over tiles.

He ran into a trap, he knew that, but he could not risk her getting away alive. The nobles wouldn't recognise him, but _these_ people did, somehow. He'd take care of all of them. As he pursued her, dead ends trapped the people below and peeled them off him, one by one. He had no idea where he was going, he didn't care. He wasn't far from Leo, he knew that, but first he had to kill Winters.

Then he'd warn his son and get him out of here.

So complacent she was that when she turned around her eyes widened at how much he'd gained. Without hesitation he shoved her, toppling her into the cobbled alley below. Her head slammed against the cobblestones below, but she stood up without swaying.

How the _hell_ was she still conscious?

He whisked a throwing knife from his sleeve and sent it straight at her. It pierced her the throat. Blood escaped her in gushing torrents as the woman clutched at her gurgling throat. Within moments, she collapsed in a growing pool.

Rudolphus squinted as light shattered the darkness. Her form turned white and glowed, her body shifting and moulding. He shielded his face with an arm.

His eyes widened.

A dead dragonspawn lay in the alley below, her torso covered by a leather tunic. Her wide eyes stared at nothing, glassy and lifeless.

Oh, _gods_.

Dragonspawn. In the Keep. Intending to assassinate Fordragon. Serving _Katrana Prestor_.

Hang his career! Hang being arrested! Fordragon had to be warned _now_.

But before he could turn around, a hand slammed over his mouth and a weapon plunged into his back.

-o-O-o-

The human body named Adam Rivers twisted the knife before he ripped it free. He brought it around and slit the human's throat. Let him choke on his own blood, just as Atramentia had.

The body in his grip sagged. Omnarion let go. The assassin's body spilled from the roof and broke in the alley below, dead before it hit the cobbles. The Squad crept out of the shadows, swarming like ants around the body of their compatriot, touching her wet scales and rumbling in their throats with mourning.

Omnarion wiped his blade on his pants. One of his kin met his human gaze and shook their head.

Not good.

With the body, Leo had undeniable evidence on his side. Omnarion was painfully aware of the lanterns that burned bright in the darkness, lights that illuminated the sign of the Brotherhood of Cinders' guild hall, and the faces that watched. He smelled their fear from here.

Omnarion looked down at his kin. "We knew we were going to die when we took this job," he said in Common. "Return to your posts, I will clean this up. There will be no memorial for our dear sister."

The dragonspawn in human forms peeled away and scattered to the four winds.

There was nothing for it but to burn the bodies. Dragonspawn were immune to their patron flight's fire, but only for as long as they were alive; when their spirit left their bodies, they burned like paper and left not a race. The human's charred corpse would disintegrate under unnatural heat and destroy evidence, but there was no time to move the human's body.

Omnarion bent by the edge of the roof. He called on his draconic aspect. Fire burned and simmered in his mouth. He breathed fire into the alleyway, consuming the two forms beneath.

He felt the old thrill of what he once was. What he would be again, one day. For one last time.

Not all jobs lasted forever.

When it was done, he straightened up and stared at those who watched, the hungry flames illuminating his face.

"Your friend in the Steppes was first," Omnarion called out. "Maybe we'll take mercy on him and kill him, maybe not. I'll have to fetch my kin and get rid of _you_ next. I don't want you to be a thorn in my mistress's side any longer."

Omnarion turned and spirited himself away into the night.

-o-O-o-

What the _hell_ happened in Stormwind Keep?

Tariona White was right. Katrana Prestor _was_ dragonkin, and her chief servant had just _murdered his father!_ No wonder Fletcher had wanted him and Tarani Jensen ready to make a portal; if the guards of Stormwind hadn't chased Rudolphus Withering, then the dragonkin would have.

And they had. _And killed him_. Leo had seen the flames illuminate Rivers' face as he _breathed fire_, he heard his voice loud and clear. He ran to fetch the Squad who'd already left, _he knew it_.

And where else to do that but the Steppes?

Lana, his fellow witness and guild member, followed him with a shout as he plunged into the guild hall, sprinted up the steps to his room and threw clothes and supplies into a bag. Hot rage mingled with the tears that blinded Leo's vision. _His father was dead._

His father had obviously failed. Stormwind Keep crawled in dragonspawn, dragonspawn who had every reason to kill him after he witnessed one in her true form and another breathing fire. The half dozen that had followed? More dragonspawn. Gods, the place could be _drowning_ in dragonspawn…

Reggie was still alive. He had to know something. _He had to find Reggie_. He had to find out how tightly the Black Dragonflight gripped Stormwind and why. Gods, the people on the street could be dragonspawn.

In the kitchen, Lana and Tarani followed him. "Sir?" piped Tarani. "Sir, what is wrong? What happened out there?"

"Dragonspawn," said Lana. "I was out there with him. Oh gods…"

"Dragons?"

Leo grabbed some rations, wrapping them in cloth and stuffing them in the bag. "I had an emergency come up in the sister guild hall and had to leave immediately," he said.

The dwarf slipped away, leaving Tarani blinking at him from the doorway. From the common room nearby came the half-drunk guffaws and laughter of their Brothers. "Where to? I'll make you a portal."

"No," said Leo. "I left before you could talk to me because I wanted to see the fireworks on the way out."

"I'll come with you, I can give you a portal back — "

"I'm not coming back for some time," said Leo. He strode over to Tarani, the woman tiny next to him, her wide, blue eyes gazing up at him in alarm. "I need you to be in charge while I'm gone. Watch Stormwind Keep closely and have a representative there at all times to keep a close eye on things, but don't act suspicious otherwise. Keep an eye on Anduin, Fordragon and Prestor. _Especially_ Prestor."

"Wh...?"

Leo gripped her shoulder. "There are dragonspawn in Stormwind Keep," he said. "Lots more than we thought. We can't risk exposing them yet, not until we know how many there are, not until we find a way to prove it."

Tarani nodded.

Outside, he saddled up his horse and strapped on his pack. He heard the snuffling of a ram, and looked beside him to see Lana climb onto it. "I'm coming too," said the ram, gripping the reins.

"Lana," said Leo. The hot searing flames of fury flickered within his chest and he stormed over to her. "You told me in your interview you were powerful enough to tell dragonkin apart from humanoids!"

Lana blinked at him. "I — " she swallowed. "I can, sir. I never said a word because — "

"What the _hell_ stopped you? Why didn't you warn me when I _almost died_?"

"I assumed they knew!" said Lana. "One of the bodyguards is a night elf, for crying out loud, they never said anything either! I thought it was something the Nobility just wanted to keep quiet, I thought they didn't want to panic us, that they were working something out with the dragons in the Steppes, I — "

"Doesn't matter," said Leo. "Night elves can only detect Green dragons, for the record. You were there when Reggie fought the Suicide Squad in October, how many were they?"

Lana's expression was grave as she gazed down at him. "Lots, sir," she said, her murmur loud in the dark. "The entire Suicide Squad are dragonkin, and at least two nobles."

Leo's heart rose to his throat. "And Lady Prestor?"

"She's one of them, sir. And she's more powerful. She could be a fully-fledged dragon."

He rested his head in the ram's fur. Gods. How could Lana be so _stupid?_

But even knowing the numbers, what could they do? Two nobles meant far too much influence against the cries of a guild already seen as warmongering when flames too hot to be natural incinerated the evidence to dust. Reggie's last letter had mentioned something vague about a herb, but that would be little use to save his life when the Suicide Squad could be seconds away from capturing him…

He had to find Reggie. He swung onto his horse. "Stay here, Lana."

"What?"

"I need you to keep an eye on the Keep with Tarani. Tell her I've made you her diplomat, she'll know what I mean."

"What? But, sir —"

"Instead, I'll take your niece with me," said Leo. "Wake Aridonna and bring her out immediately. Tell her to meet me at Lakeridge, I'm leaving _now_. If the Suicide Squad show up, try not to fight unless you have no choice."

"Alright, sir."

She'd barely finished speaking by the time Leo galloped away.

-o-O-o-

From the shadows, Omnarion watched in satisfaction as Withering Jr fled and humans bustled around the fire, desperate to put it out. He hadn't expected the human to fall for the entire evil villain speech, but he had. Hook, line, sinker. The execution could have gone better, but Leonardo was off to become the pawn he was supposed to be, Tariona White would still be framed, and the only two people who could corroborate her story were dead or missing.

And Onyxia had no idea what _truly_ went on.

Perfect.

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ One note before we get on to review replies (because I know other authors have had trouble with reviewers taking issue with this before), I just want to remind people Not Amused by the first half of this chapter that Azeroth isn't Earth, nor is it medieval England, and does not progress at the same rate as earth considering Azeroth is a melting pot of cultures. I imagine, given all the mercenaries and the mixture of culture that is taking place (and the fact that there is barely any racism [but not none, see: the genocidal anti-elf guy from Dalaran who's ultimately responsible for TEMPEST KEEP WAS MERELY A SETBACK] within a faction indicating that people are quick to accept things that aren't trying to kill them, as we see in the case of gender equality happening quite quickly to the point where women fight every day in Azeroth without people blinking twice), that homosexuality is at least embraced without blinking somewhere (my theory is Darnassus) (and on the flip side, reviled somewhere else, most likely humanity, specifically with the people less likely to mingle with the every-day people of other cultures) and therefore would bleed into the rest of the society within the Alliance. I've always had the impression the Alliance is all "We don't give a crap as long as the baddies die at the end of the day," with a few exceptions._

_If you disagree with whether this is realistic within the story, please remember this is my take on it within Azeroth. I'd appreciate it if people let it be, or stop reading if it really bothers them. I hope I communicated well enough why the Black Dragons don't blink at it._

_And now, onto review replies!_

**_FalconPunch:_**_ That would almost be as awkward as shacking up with a dragon ten thousand years older than you. Almost._

**_JustMe:_**_ Looking at the wording I realise what you mean, I'll fix that up. I pictured it on his sternum... which isn't his collarbone, is it? Nope. Derp._

**_Kai:_**_ Alexstrasza had a frikken mini-harem, why can't Onyxia have one? Imagine all the humans she could have! ... I'll give you a moment to scrub your brain with bleach. Yay poly dragons._

_As for night elves and detecting dragons, I found out about that a couple of weeks ago, thought about it, realised that even while Kair could easily miss it (he's off in his own little world) Maeqa sure as hell would not. And truthfully there is that one gaping hole in Onyxia's disguise - she stood in plain sight in Stormwind Keep, and every night elf and hunter would be able to detect, plain as day, what she is. They only had to walk in. You could pull a random assortment of hunters off the street and go "loldragon?" and they'd go "loldragon" and poof, Onyxia would have one heck of a hard time in Stormwind. She's been around for ten years, so obviously nobody ever pointed the finger. (Or, at least, never lived to tell anyone else about it.)_

_I imagine that night elves can only detect the dragons of flights they are familiar with, in their case Greens, and that you have to be a decent enough hunter (and not dense like Lana can be) to be able to detect dragonkin. Originally TOD followed Lana as a hunter and went into more depth as to why she never spoke up about the dragonkin, but ended up scrapping it, so I hope I've done a decent enough job without that aid. Subverting that, I think that if a mortal knew what signs to look for, they'd be able to spot a Black dragon from a mile away, something which will be explored later. Unless you're Onyxia and ignore all humans to the point where you don't even notice your kind right in front of your face. Lesson learned there, I bet._

**_Bitzithegnome:_**_ . A lot of TOD reviewers really love Sabel, so I'll point 'em your way if you put it up!_


	23. Dragon or Monster?

_**A/N:** There won't be review replies at the bottom of this chapter, but I wanted to thank everyone who took the time to review. You guys spoil me rotten, twelve reviews for the last chapter! EEE._

_Re: Hunters tracking dragonkin - that will be brought up later on in the fic. I'm trying to balance game mechanics with lore, but I won't have the opportunity to address the hunter thing again for a few chapters yet, alas._

**_WARNING:_**_This chapter's got one heck of a bombshell and gets quite dark. _End of chapter contains sexual triggers.

_I'm going to go hide from my inbox now._

**_Thank you to Coincidencless for her beta-related services!_**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

* * *

After a long, eventful night Sam felt grateful for the ball to end at last. After collecting Amandine from Kair, she ran into Fordragon by the Royal Quarters, "I want to make sure he hasn't taken advantage of the chaos and run off again," Bolvar explained. "And check that he's in bed." Katrana followed him as silent as a shadow.

"And he's not," said Bolvar, opening the door. "Why am I _not_ surprised?"

"Foris said I could stay up for a while!" said Anduin.

"He _nagged me to death_," grumbled Foris.

Balancing Amandine on one hip, Sam glared at the bodyguards by the window. Even Maeqa looked guilty, mumbling, "I'm his guard, not his mother." Katrana Prestor cocked a groomed eyebrow. Anduin yawned.

"You're going to be tired in the morning," said Bolvar.

"Myth couldn't sleep so I played with him and Kair." Anduin shot a winning smile at Sam. "Did you enjoy yourself tonight, Lady Inkweaver?"

"Lay it on with a trowel, kid, I dare you." Sam shot him her best motherly glare.

"Come on Anduin, it's time for bed," said Bolvar.

"Does Mandy feel better?" said Anduin.

"Better?" said Katrana from behind Sam. "Is she ill?"

"She gets sick a lot," said Anduin.

"Bed," said Bolvar to Anduin. He pointed at the door. "_Now_. I'll tuck you in if it gets you to go to sleep!"

"I'm not _tired_!" said Anduin.

"You're a lying liar who lies a lot, therefore you're lying. _Liar._"

"Kair told me she had a bad nosebleed earlier," said Sam to Katrana as Bolvar followed a giggling Anduin to his room. The night elves trailed after them. "I'm keeping an eye on her. If it happens again I'm taking her to Bronzewing."

"Bronzewing?" Katrana tilted her head. "As in Horan Bronzewing, by any chance? Where have you seen him?"

"You've met him?" said Sam. "He's a priest at the infirmary."

"The _infirmary?" _Katrana gave a troubled frown. "I don't suppose he happens to be an expert on dragonkin health, is he?"

"Funny you should say that," said Sam. "I met him when he sold dragon-themed nicknacks for a friend of his. But no, he's a child health professional."

Katrana stared at her. "Child health?"

"Yep," said Sam. "He does midwifery as well. A child expert."

"How _odd_," said Katrana.

"Why would it be? Do you know him?"

Katrana shook her head.

Mandy stirred and a foul smell arose. Sam sighed. "Dirty nappy. Excuse me — "

"I wanna help, I wanna help, I wanna help!" Anduin bolted from his room. He nodded. "Yes? I think I should help! Don't you think so?"

His godfather reappeared behind him. "You're far too energetic for two in the morning," Bolvar growled. "Bed, _now_."

"_But I want to help Sam!_"

"Help Sam, and then _bed_!"

Sam smirked and fished around in her bag, laying a blanket on the carpet. "Are you _sure_, Andy? It's messy work."

Anduin bounced up and down on the spot. "I'm sure! I want to help!"

"Alright, kid," said Sam. "Don't say I didn't warn you. Right, this is what you do..."

As she expected, Anduin wrinkled his nose in disgust. But with valiance unusual for a nine-year-old he pushed on, and when they finished cleaning up Mandy the prince bolted to the bathroom to wash his hands to the sound of Katrana's chuckle. "Anduin," she said as the boy returned. "I never apologised for my cruel words by the lake some time ago. Please accept my apologies."

Anduin blinked at her. "It's alright," he said, his tone reserved. "Really." He shuffled on the spot.

"Anduin," said Bolvar. "_Bed_.Foris better not allow you to get this wound up so late again…"

As Bolvar herded Anduin to his room again, Sam caught Katrana gazing thoughtfully at Amandine. "Would you like to hold her?" she said.

Katrana hesitated. "As you wish."

Sam offered the infant to her. Katrana's arms cradled the child to her. As Bolvar returned, grumbling about hyperactive children and indecent hours, Sam said, "You hold her well. Have you got experience with children?"

"No," said Katrana. "I never knew anyone with young children. I suppose it is just… instinctive."

Sam chuckled. "Instincts… wish I had those. When they handed Mandy to me I had no idea what to do with her. How do you do it?"

"I cannot even have children, so I do not understand why I would have an aptitude."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Katrana shrugged. "I grew ill in the Second War. The healers said I was lucky to recover with my life, and fertility was the price I paid." Absently, she tickled Amandine's stomach. "Highlord, we should attend to Shaw, perhaps he has an update for us."

"Mmm," was all Fordragon said as Samantha scooped up her child.

"Update?" said Sam. "Is this about that assassin?"

"You know we can't share information," said Fordragon, moving to the door. Katrana glided after him. "But we'll let you know what we can when we're able."

"Is it safe to walk back to my quarters?"

"There are Stormwind Intelligence agents present everywhere," said Katrana. "I assure you, tonight Stormwind Keep is the safest it has ever been."

_Yeah, right_, thought Sam. _And that's why an assassin walked in and out like he owned the place._

-o-O-o-

By the time Katrana returned to her quarters to find Evenian and Omnarion in her study, dawn's gentle light stained the sky to the east.

"Tariona White has been placed under arrest," said Omnarion. "All has gone well."

Katrana felt relieved. She always tensed when Stormwind Intelligence had to search her quarters. The letter had been found in White's quarters, she accused Fletcher of treachery, she and Fordragon had provided an alibi…

It had been a long night.

"I noticed that Winters fell straight into the courtyard," said Katrana, sliding into the chair behind her desk. She tapped the wood, scrutinising the dragonspawn in front of her. "Is there a particular reason for that?"

"Winters suggested making it look more convincing," said Omnarion. "An arrow bouncing by your head could have a few nobles feeling… lax. Let us be honest, most do not particularly care for you. But having an assassin fall out of the sky into their midst makes them wonder _who_ the victim is."

"So it has all gone perfectly?"

"Mostly," said Omnarion. "While Atramentia was not captured, she was wounded and died of her injuries. I incinerated the body."

"At least she was not in her usual form," said Katrana.

"A disappearance will be staged," said Omnarion. "I've changed the records to reflect that she had a family emergency and had to leave the Keep. Whilst on her fictional journey back she'll be eaten by wolves or something."

"What we must attend to now is our next move," said Evenian. "With Tariona White pushed aside, there will still be people who pick up the torch and follow her crusade against the Black Dragonflight, and it's important we continue to take action to prevent our discovery. Earlier this month, whilst you were..." Evenian paused. "... otherwise preoccupied, you missed two assemblies and a gathering of advisors discussing Dragonbane. I attempted to tell you, but… "

Ah, yes, she'd chased Evenian from her study back when she'd been too busy wallowing in self pity to do her damned job. Katrana scowled. The first assemblies she missed in years, and it _had_ to be relevant. "Tell me of the results."

Omnarion and Evenian exchanged glances.

"It's not good," said Omnarion.

Evenian looked to her. "The plant that was brought back from the Steppes has since been nursed back into health, divided into cuttings and distributed through about half a dozen people that Mathias Shaw personally trusts, and whose identities he has kept secret even from Highlord Fordragon."

Why did she _not_ have the sense to have it stolen as soon as she had seen it? "Go on."

"The cuttings are still small saplings right now," said Evenian. "Nowhere near enough to brew the amount of potion they need..."

"They're creating a Dragonbane potion, my lady," said Omnarion. "And they're pushing to eventually have every single noble and visiting diplomat tested with it."

Silence. The urge to massage her temples became overwhelming, but instead Katrana stared at the study door. The scorch mark from where she had chased Evenian out with a fireball a couple of weeks before remained, black against brown. She exhaled through her nostrils. "So the Squad is safe?"

"For now," said Omnarion. "They're more concerned about the influence the Flight might have within the Keep than any ordinary guard, and they've already been convinced it will be an expensive project without having every single person who sets foot inside the Keep tested."

"Then we prevent such an occurrence from happening and have the project scrapped."

"Someone within the House of Nobles brought up a valid concern," said Evenian. "They said that we do not yet fully understand the effects of Dragonbane, that people could be genuinely allergic to it, or that it could end up having poisonous or terrible effects upon the human body that we did not hear about before Reginald Windsor's disappearance."

"And after that, someone accused him of being dragonspawn," said Omnarion. "It's a witch hunt in there. Some people aren't willing to risk social ostracision and potential violence."

"Violence?"

"Well," said Omnarion. "You know who humans are. If you get enough of them believing there is a criminal in their midst and the people in power aren't taking care of it..."

"... you then have vigilante justice," said Evenian. "Tension runs high among the nobles. We must plan our next move. Everyone knows Katrana Prestor opposes exploring the Steppes, and if you should object to this particular measure..."

"... while they may not be able to prove it, it will be as good as over, my lady," said Omnarion. "Humans are not quite as unintelligent as we've always taken them to be. They don't always need proof to believe in something. And if you disagree with this, they will turn on you and your influence will be _gone_. And that's if someone doesn't somehow get a hold of Dragonbane potion and poison you with it to test it out themselves."

Katrana frowned and straightened in her chair. "So remove the samples Mathias Shaw distributed."

"I've had the girls working on it since the assembly," said Omnarion. "They had no luck, and with Atramentia gone they'll have even less. Shaw knows how to cover his tracks."

"And once the samples disappear, that will arouse too much suspicion," said Evenian. "Far too much. They _will_ suspect you first. Our position is precarious."

Silence hung in the air. Katrana frowned, staring at the grooves in the wood.

They were headed for disaster. They were trapped.

"I have an idea, Broodmother," said Evenian. "It will not protect me or most of the Suicide Squad, but it will protect you."

"Let us hear it," said Katrana. "We have need of an escape route."

Evenian and Omnarion looked at one another. "You're not going to like this," said Omnarion. "But Evenian and I discussed it at length and we believe it is the only option. It is risky, but far less so than the alternative."

"How badly will I dislike this?" said Katrana.

Both dragonspawn glanced back at the scorch mark on the door.

Katrana sighed. "I better hear it, then."

"I have been looking into Fordragon's history," said Evenian. "I am concerned by his track record when it comes to his... romantic partners."

"What has this to do with your idea?"

"I believe we can knock out two birds with one stone. With the amulet barely working you may find yourself in a position where he decides he is tired of the relationship and... takes appropriate measures," said Evenian. "A human his age should be settled down by now, but he is not which indicates a worrying lack of commitment. Therefore it is reasonable to expect he will, so to speak, leave you in the future. We have taken to observing his behaviour and we believe there is a way you can both secure his companionship _and_ prevent your exposure to the Dragonbane potion."

It _sounded_ ideal. Perfect, even.

But why did Omnarion fidget and eye the door as if this were the last place he wanted to be?

"What is the catch?" said Katrana.

"Humans do not mate for life in spite of their claims," said Evenian. "_However_… they have been known to do so if the union produces an heir."

Dead silence.

"It would be reasonable for you to claim exemption to the testing due to the fact no human would hold the knowledge that such a union _can_ produce mortal children," said Evenian. "Your supposed mortality would be assured, you would have a way to hold permanent influence over Fordragon, and if you use rape as a public cover story that will gain you favour and sympathy within the court. I _do_ believe Fordragon can be manipulated with this method as he has shown he has a deep bond with the prince Anduin Wrynn — "

Katrana's voice came out in a low hiss. "Get out."

Omnarion didn't need telling twice. His companion proved not to be so wise.

"Do you see a better idea, Broodmother?" said Evenian.

"Get _out_," Katrana snarled, rising to her feet. Omnarion hovered by the door, shooting frightened looks at Evenian, as he had far more experience with her rage than the other Scalebane. "I am _no_ human's whore, I will not _ever_ mate with a human and I will certainly not be a vessel for mortal _spawn_."

Evenian stood his ground. "Again, do you have a better idea?"

"_OUT!_"

Evenian backed away, holding Katrana's furious gaze, and followed Omnarion's example with only a bow to show his goodbyes.

Snarling, Katrana paced the room. She felt like Fordragon, with his damned annoying pacing, but without a target dummy to blow up there was no other way to vent her fury.

Could they come up with a stupider idea? How could they even _dream_ of this foolish endeavour? Was she surrounded by morons? What kind of idiot was Romathis that he thought she would go along with his? No doubt he knew of it!

And the thought of _mating with a human and carrying his spawn…_

Nausea rolled over her. She tasted fluid at the back of her throat. She strode to the bathroom. She had not been sick in a long time and hoped it would not be broken today. The cold porcelain of the basin stared up at her, reflecting the soft light of dawn that drifted in through the tiny window. Katrana's stomach churned, but settled without incident.

_Do you have a better idea?_ Evenian had said.

Could he have a _worse_ one?

But Horan Bronzewing was here, specialising in childcare and birth. And hadn't Horan sent the message that Katrana would require her soon?

Gods.

Onyxia looked at the mirror. Katrana Prestor's ice-coloured eyes stared back at her, a greyish blue that looked too pale to be natural rather than the dark-coloured eyes most Black Dragonkin bore when they were in mortal forms. But then, changing eye and hair colour was not impossible, though it took greater magic and she was nothing if not a magician.

She remembered her father handing her the hairs of an ideal human form he had chosen for her. She'd taken those hairs, weaved magic and assumed the form of the dead person who once wore them. He insisted upon that form, and years later she saw why. The body that went by the name Katrana Prestor looked attractive by human standards, with a heart-shaped face and sharp features.

She loathed it.

This was the stupidest idea Evenian had come up with yet! She had no reason to even _consider_ it.

If the humans discovered a pregnancy, Katrana Prestor's career would meet its end. Shaw would have to know in order for her to escape the Dragonbane tests, and she'd require at least one priest to deliver the wretched spawn because humans were wimps incapable of giving birth on their own.

At least the child would be almost completely mortal. Dragon blood would run through its veins, yes, but it would grant them no favours whatsoever. Mortals could not cope with dragon blood in them, not even if they were born that way…

And the thought of making a human her permanent mate...

To dragons, mating was a life-binding, permanent decision that could not be undone, _ever_, no matter how much the two parties mutually wished it could be. She would be required to protect him even against her own kin. That was what mating was about, an alliance between two individuals to protect one another and their broods, not solely for reproduction. It was a pity he was too human to likely grant her the same favours.

This was an idea suggested by Romathis, she knew it. If she were to bear human spawn she would be unable to transform into a dragon for almost a year, lest the child would be reabsorbed into the body during the transformation. It was a perfect ploy to keep her away from Blackrock, a perfect way to introduce more outlandish plans without Onyxia flying over to give him a piece of her mind.

There must be a reason Romathis did this. Onyxia did not doubt that he wanted the leadership of the Black Flight all to himself, but... why put her in such a position? Surely he realised that if she was removed from power, all was lost?

... Unless it wasn't? Unless the draconic army was ready?

But it couldn't be. Onyxia had seen countless chromatic dragons in Blackrock, along with the orcs and ogres and goblins, but there was no way it could be ready. The fact the Brotherhood of Cinders were still able to march in there, poach as they want and come back home alive attested to that. The Burning Steppes would have to overflow with dragonkin before they could even _hope_ to overwhelm Stormwind. Certainly they had enough to overwhelm Stormwind's defences...

… But Romathis had forgotten how quickly Stormwind changed. He hadn't asked for a report on Stormwind security since just after the Third War. In the years since then Stormwind held far more at its disposal as the mercenaries multiplied like rabbits, as alliances formed and strengthened. Stormwind had far more than guards to defend it. It had armies of guilds like the Brotherhood of Cinders. It had the gnomes, the dwarves and the night elves to rush to its defence. Romathis and Onyxia had lived thousands of years in a society which changed slowly, but mortals had such quick lifespans things changed in the blink of an eye.

Romathis had made a terrible mistake. Perhaps she could, in time, work this to advantage.

But she didn't have time.

She was trapped.

The Dragonbane cuttings had long been scattered to the winds; she had foolishly missed the opportunity to do something about it. Evenian could take another form and make Fletcher conveniently disappear, but...

If _she_ was tested, it was all over. She'd have even worse a reaction to Dragonbane than the dragonspawn, who had mortal ancestry to grant them a slower death. It might even force a transformation.

Perhaps Evenian was right. Perhaps this _was_ the only way. A pregnancy would mean being able to get out of it, and how else _could_ she? To the humans it would be obvious she _was_ human, or she could simply play the "What effect will this have on my unborn child?" card... Worst case scenario, they tested her after childbirth. That bought her nine months.

And Katrana Prestor's career would be over unless those who knew about it kept quiet.

But what was worse? Potentially endangering the Dragonflight, or _definitely_ doing so? Yes, Katrana would lose a lot of influence when this went wrong, but at least the Dragonflight would not be exposed, and she could claw her way back up the ranks. She'd done it before. She _would_ claw her way back up. The rape cover story was not a bad idea. She had no idea what _else_ to do.

Fine. She would do it, then. But a new problem arose: how the _hell_ was she supposed to entice Fordragon to mate with her?

She shuddered at the thought.

At least he thought she was infertile, which saved sabotaging birth control. She had lied there, once again, in case Fordragon ever wanted a family with her later, not knowing how brilliant her timing had been. She _truly_ didn't want to give birth to human spawnlings.

He was a damned _paladin_, too. Paladins were mostly sex-after-marriage, not sex-after-being-friends-for-two-monthsish, and she'd been seeing him for just over a week! She supposed she could falsify a rape, but even then she had to be impregnated by _someone_ and she felt even less inclined to sleep with a random human. How would she even entice him?

She rested her forehead against the mirror, which steamed up with her breath. Her heart thundered against her ribcage, then sank deep into her body.

There was only one way to do that.

And she did not like it at all.

She spat bile into the basin.

Long ago, in some forgotten tussle with an enemy of the Black Dragonflight, Sabellian had developed a potion, the ingredients of which Onyxia remembered vividly. She'd helped him gather them, watched him as he pored over his messy alchemist table. He brewed and tested and laboured for months, producing failure after failure before he nailed it. The drug rendered the drinker in a state of ecstasy, completely removing their inhibitions and conscience. It was mind control in drinkable form. The drinker would be capable of doing anything Sabellian — or Onyxia — wanted them to do.

_Anything_.

A deep shudder wracked her.

Katrana would have to offer him a contaminated drink, wait for it to affect him…

She bent over the basin, covering her mouth.

Not even humans deserved that. She was a dragon, not a _monster_. She'd turn around and kill him any day, but _this_?

But on the other side of the world her children slept in their shells, and to the north her brother sabotaged her progress without realising it would be his downfall. He underestimated humanity. If he was right, she would just step aside and let the war begin, but the Dragonflight didn't stand a chance. She would handle her brother, but in the meantime...

She had no choice. She saw no way around this, and already time ticked away.

_For the Flight_, she told herself, _no price is too big to pay. The ends justify the means. My people _need_ this._

But her nausea did not dissipate, and Katrana could not shake off the putrid feeling of rot and disgust that stained her body because of her vile thoughts.


	24. Chess and Champagne

_**A/N:** Thank you for the great reviews! It makes my day to know people enjoy this._

_Just a note, updates are going to be a few days late for a few chapters, though I'll try not to have longer than ten days between each chapter and I hope to get them back to a normal schedule after my buffer's built. I'm planning the last leg of part one, and I need to build a buffer to prepare for a month where my attention will have to be focused on something else. When that happens, and I'll let you know when, it'll be one update a week._

_Thank you to **Coincidencless** for their beta work!_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

* * *

Blackrock Spire, no matter what Romathis may have thought, would not be prepared for the onslaught of mortal soldiers when Onyxia failed the Dragonbane testing.

Keeping that in mind, along with all the whelplings and children within the Spire, was all that kept Katrana Prestor going as she gathered ingredients from the apothecary and set up a workbench within her kitchen. Remembering her brother's methods from long ago she sliced and mixed and brewed. The evil mixture, orange in colour, oozed and bubbled over a small dragonflame underneath.

It was easy to do what she had to do, she told herself. Simple: become with child, have said child, and Blackrock was safe for a little while longer. But what to do about Romathis? There was little doubt now as to his intentions. It was hard to tell what exactly he intended while he faffed about like this rather than marching upon humanity at once, but at least his foolish games meant the Flight wouldn't die out.

_Not yet,_ said a sinister voice within her.

She shoved it away.

What _could_ she do? Romathis would want her dead sooner or later, and he'd have the power to manage it. If she fought back he _would_ dominate her Brood. If only she'd had the sense to plant spies within Blackrock! She only had a few hundred at her disposal — dragonspawn, drakes, Ebonaria. If he wanted to snatch her eggs, the pregnancy provided him with the perfect opportunity. Then Ebonaria would have to fight back, and then...

Civil war would break out, and she would be helpless as Romathis crushed them all.

Was _that_ Romathis's plan? Onyxia had supporters within the Black Dragonflight that were outside of her Brood, but not in his. The independent wyrms and drakes that made their own paths in the world could easily be swayed to his side if they thought her brood was treacherous to the Black Flight. And yet it didn't make sense. Surely they would see that an unprovoked attack upon her Brood would justify fighting back?

So Romathis would not do it unless he was confident he already had their support. And to get that, he'd have had to have turned them from her in the first place...

But how had he done that? Dragons' loyalties did not switch so easily. She would have had to commit a crime in their eyes which would entice them to switch loyalties, and —

... What greater crime than bearing human spawn?

_Oh, for the love of the fel-damned Titans!_

Katrana bit down on the insides of her cheeks to stop herself yelling out in frustration. If she didn't go through with this pregnancy, Blackrock would be overrun. If _she_ did go through with this pregnancy then there was no choice but to bow down to him if she wanted to prevent civil war. And in the process she would lose her children to his grotesque experiments.

_What in the hells was she supposed to do?_

She went into Stormwind at his suggestion, kept her Brood in Dustwallow at his suggestion, all the while thinking, _why not?_ He'd presented compelling arguments.

But years later she saw her gullibility. Dustwallow Marsh was perfect for _Romathis_. She would be too far away from her Brood, and the Brood was too close to humanity. Romathis had planned for _that_, she was sure.

She was helpless.

_This was all her fault._

Unable to prevent a hiss of rage, she left the mixture bubbling over its flame and stormed into her study, pacing back and forth. She longed to explode in fury, to rip apart the apartment that housed her human form, but she forced herself to vent her frustration by wearing a hole in the carpet not unlike the way Fordragon did. _Ha._

What could she _do_? She could inform Romathis about Stormwind's defences, but if he even believed she hadn't caught on that would only buy her time, and when it ran out he would have even _more_ strength to crush her and her Brood. The Suicide Squad, his dragonspawn, would be useless; they'd believe anything Romathis said contrary to the evidence in front of their own eyes and hadn't seen the forces at Blackrock for themselves.

She had a choice to make: to allow the Dragonflight to die at the hands of humans, or to die by ripping itself apart.

There had to be a third option. There had to be.

_What else do we do when times are tough, other than survive?_

Perhaps the only way to win this involved her death.

She had Ebonaria's loyalty, if nothing else, her one weapon within the Black Dragonflight. Onyxia's death approached, she understood and accepted that. But perhaps Ebonaria could succeed her, bring Romathis down and lead the Dragonflight in her place…

She threw herself into her chair and pulled out two sheets of parchment.

On one, she wrote:

_Ebonaria —_

_Bury the eggs immediately. Being within the earth and not exposed to fire will weaken them, but we cannot afford to fuss. Fake the deaths of a few dozen dragonspawn. Falsify evidence of a terrible human raid which nearly wiped out the Brood, and report this fake raid and its imaginary casualties to Romathis._

_And when he comes, make sure there are dragonspawn absent and pretend they are dead. Build a pyre if you must. Do not fight him. Offer him a handful of eggs at most if he should ask and tell him it is all that is left, but protect as many of your brothers and sisters as you can get away with. Do not fight him. Reach out to allies that you know are loyal to me and retain contact with them. It is time to count our allies._

_Survival is a priority._

_O_

Ebonaria would think she had gone insane. Ordering her to protect her siblings? Ordering her _not_ to fight back? Ordering her to lie to the other leader? Ebonaria would know something was going horribly wrong, but she would be loyal.

It was risky, but it might work. It was a game of chess, and she was playing far too defensively for her own good. But with only a few pawns at her disposal, what else could she do? She had to buy time.

And then an evil thought seeped into her head.

Why not allow herself to fail the test? Allow the humans to march upon Blackrock? She would be rid of her greatest enemy and still have her power, her Brood would be safely on the other side of the world tucked away from humanity...

But she couldn't sacrifice her _kin_! Her children were in that Spire, her nieces and nephews and the distant relatives of her dragonspawn. Sacrificing them all to remove one dragon disgusted her.

But she could not simply fly over there and attempt to kill him either. Even if Romathis's forces were not numerous enough to defeat Stormwind, they would defeat _her_. She could kill him one on one, but Romathis was no fool. It was doubtful if the rest of the Flight would follow her after such an incident, since her own father had ordered them both to lead the Dragonflight in his absence. Betraying Deathwing's orders would be grounds for death in her kin's eyes, even if he were long dead…

Romathis would want to kill her in a fashion that did not directly link back to him.

For now, she would go with it. At the moment there was no way out, but if she were lucky he would soon slip up, and then she had to be ready to abandon her post, the human spawn, and leap into action.

Until then, her priority was survival.

Katrana set her pen to the second piece of paper and began to copy the letter into code.

From here, her keen ears heard the mixture's bubbling.

That poor, poor human…

-o-O-o-

Bolvar wasn't sure what to make of Katrana.

On Veil Day she'd been the happiest he'd ever seen her. She'd pelted snowballs, entertained Myth and Anduin at the park, and he'd even heard her laugh. She'd looked so light and free from trouble.

But since then she'd grown quieter and quieter. Something didn't seem right. She kept her distance and never spoke a word about herself that she didn't have to. She shied away from his touch as if she didn't want it. He felt as if he'd tainted her somehow. Had he done something? But Katrana wasn't one to hold onto silent grudges and she said nothing. He'd have thought the entire White incident had frightened her, but it had started before then, and if anything, she'd barely blinked during the White fiasco!

_That_ had been a scandal and a half. White as good as admitted sending an assassin after Kat once SI:7 agents had found a letter within her possession. How odd, though, that she'd claimed Fletcher was part of it. But Kat had leapt to his defence, and Bolvar swore up and down that he'd been with Fletcher the evening White claimed they'd arranged everything.

He needed to bring Kat out of her shell somehow, but how? During the last week she'd taken to holing herself up in her quarters. She barely spoke anymore during assemblies either, watching as nobles feasted on the growing panic within Stormwind Keep. He'd barely had the opportunity to say a word to her afterwards before she excused herself and slipped away.

Perhaps he'd been too impulsive on Veil Day. He could kick himself for it. Her hostility had vanished entirely, to be replaced by...

Fear?

Impossible. Katrana Prestor spat in fear's face. When most people cowered and hid she swelled with rage and _dared_ fear to look her in the eye.

And yet, fear emanated from her in waves. He had to be imagining it. She remained in her quarters because she wanted to give no other assassins a clear shot. She didn't come near him because she didn't want to. She frowned because some puzzle she had not told him about preoccupied her. She couldn't be _afraid_.

He half expected Kat not to show up that Friday.

She did.

"I brought champagne," she said.

"Feeling adventurous?" he smirked, stepping aside to let her in, unable to hide the relief in his tone. Did she feel alright tonight? "Up for drunk chess? I didn't know you were into that kind of thing."

"No, though if you do wish to make a fool out of yourself _do_ feel free," she said. Her tone held its usual deadpan, her face expressionless, but somehow he detected slight playfulness. Or perhaps he imagined that too? He'd never been able to read her before, why now?

His mind had felt odd lately. The whole Fletcher and White thing had gotten to him, perhaps. Sometimes he felt certain that Fletcher hadn't been with him and Katrana that night, at other times he thought he was foolish to forget it. If Katrana hadn't vouched for Fletcher's presence he would have thought he was insane. He was only in his early forties, he couldn't be getting old and forgetful already.

"I'll get that," he said, holding his hand out for the bottle.

But Katrana tilted her head and a playful smirk graced her features. "I am capable of pouring a couple of glasses of champagne, Highlord. Allow me."

He chuckled. It felt good to see that trace of the more outgoing Katrana again, wherever she'd been hiding for the last two weeks. "There's a cupboard above the sink with some champagne flutes."

While she swept out of the room he sat back at his desk, listening to the clink of glasses from the kitchen. It couldn't hurt to give the letter he'd been writing a last go-over, but his mind drifted away from it back in the direction of Katrana's odd behaviour.

Perhaps she regretted what happened on Veil Day. Relationships of all kinds seemed to be things that Katrana did not know how to handle. She always acted so stiff, almost as if she scrutinised every action she took around him. She never seemed quite herself.

But who was Katrana Prestor beneath her anger, beneath her social inexperience and pride?

He tapped his quill thoughtfully on the parchment. If the kiss brought her discomfort, perhaps it was better to pretend it had never happened at all. She'd seemed willing at the _time_...

He cursed at the large splotch he created on his letter. He returned his quill to its stand, less than amused. Great, he'd have to write it out all over again. He huffed.

Then Bolvar frowned. Surely Katrana would have finished pouring the champagne by now? "Kat?" he called out. "Did you find them?"

"Yes, allow me a moment," he heard her answer. She reappeared not long after with a swirl of red skirts, offering him a flute of golden liquid.

He smiled at her warmly and took a sip. "Mmm! Delicious."

"Then I chose well," said Katrana.

"Indeed — " he frowned. "Yes, you have." There was no need to talk so formally around Kat, after all.

She glanced down at his desk. "You have an issue to address? Perhaps my arrival was premature."

"Ah, it's nothing," he said. "I was working on a letter before you came. Before the ink ruined it."

If Katrana asked, the ink blot arrived on its own accord. Yes. Really.

"I was drafting a letter to Shaw regarding the Dragonbane testing," said Bolvar. "I think people are acting far too paranoid about it, but after everything that's been happening..."

"The nobility feast upon each other like sharks smelling blood in the water," Kat observed. "But is that not how it has always been?" She craned her neck and perched on his desk. He pushed the letter over.

He could get used to her being there. She always seemed calmer talking about work.

"You have your reservations regarding the testing?" said Katrana, her eyes flicking across the letter. "And I see you are wording yourself very carefully. I do not suppose you want to cause any hysteria about your… draconic heritage." She smirked.

Bolvar quirked a brow. "I hope you're joking."

"It is over, dragon, I have seen through your cunning plan," said Katrana dully. "It is all there in your name where your true allegiance lies, _Fordragon_."

"Oh, gods," Bolvar snorted. "I never thought of that. Don't say that within earshot of anyone else or there'll be conspiracy theories abound if there aren't already." He pushed the letter to the side. "But Lord Wilson raised a valid point, before people started slinging accusations. We don't yet understand the full effects of the herb. If someone has something as innocent as an allergy, then they're as good as dead and I cannot allow that to happen. And if it turns out to have poisonous qualities that have yet to be discovered then we are as good as asking for the entire nobility to be — "

He frowned. What was wrong with the way he _spoke_? He'd been talking to her too much. "Then pretty much the entirety of the nobility is going to cark it," he finished. "_That_ would be fun to explain to Stormwind."

"Except it would not be, because you would be dead," said Katrana.

He laughed at the usual toneless way she delivered that line. When she arched a dark eyebrow at him he grinned at her. _This_ was what he loved when the ice broke, when her buried playfulness emerged in the form of deadpan wit and dry humour. Even if it was slightly creepy.

The easy moment, as always, did not last before she withdrew within herself with a scowl. She took a drink from her flute. "Drunk chess," she mused to herself. "You are easily entertained, it seems."

He winked at her. "Let's get out the board, shall we?" he said, abandoning his desk. "And no, Kat, I was joking. I haven't gotten drunk since... that was mostly the teen years."

"Mostly," Kat's lip quirked again. "And it does seem to be common to become inebriated during the teen years."

"You?"

"Common," Kat quipped. "Not universal."

Somehow, that didn't surprise him.

He chuckled, digging out the chess board from one of the cabinets and setting it up on the small table by the window. He kept his champagne glass nearby as they both set up their pieces, the bottle overseeing the setup. He already felt a pleasant buzz from its effects. "I told Anduin once that everyone coped with the destruction of Stormwind differently. I told him I buried myself in books. That wasn't really all of the truth..."

"Ah. You found yourself... relying upon certain drinks to blot out emotion."

"Not in the beginning," said Bolvar. Katrana, playing white for a change, moved first. She appeared to regard the board with specific interest tonight. "I read. A lot. Back in Lordaeron I had a girlfriend, you see. She was unfaithful, but no matter how much people said as such to me I ignored it, until one night Reg and Leo pretty much ganged up on me with the evidence. Then we slipped out after hours and they got me drunk." He paused thoughtfully. "Then Baron Sablemane and his wife found and scared the piss out of us. Good times. But after that, before the war started, I relied on drink too heavily. Glad I stopped, it was the beginning of a bad road."

Kat looked puzzled. "Wife...?"

"There was a Lady Sablemane with him."

Kat blinked at him in utter confusion before understanding dawned. "That was his _sister_."

"He had a sister?" said Bolvar. "They didn't look alike."

"Half siblings by the same father."

"Huh, really?" They really _hadn't_ looked alike. "I couldn't imagine how the heck that grump managed to attract someone in the first place, that explains it."

"And he was so good to you, too." Kat smirked.

"_Good to me_?" Bolvar snorted. "Well, alright, he saved my life. You're right. But still, it's pretty crushing to be awake at three in the morning in agonising pain and have your healer go, 'Oh, Titans, stop your whining and shut _up_.' No bedside manner, none at all!" He smirked playfully.

"He was not so bad," Katrana murmured, so quietly Bolvar wasn't quite sure if she had spoken or not.

Now he felt guilty.

He sipped at his glass. Change of subject, why not grab the bull by the horns? He decided to give himself a refill first. "Is everything alright, Kat? The White thing has upset you, hasn't it?"

The champagne was beautiful stuff. She truly did have good taste. His head buzzed pleasantly. Damn it, he was too old to be a lightweight!

"I am hardly bothered," said Katrana. "It would allow the enemy to think they have gotten to me."

"You've been uncomfortable around me."

"I am hardly at ease around _anyone_," said Katrana. She flicked his knight out of the way and replaced it with her bishop. Damn.

He peered at her. "You're avoiding the question."

"You did not ask a question, so technically I am not avoiding one."

"Ha ha. Funny. I mean it, though. What is upsetting you? Have I…?"

She pushed a pawn with the tip of her finger within the silence that stretched between them for a long moment. "You always treat me like a startled animal. But then, I do not blame you. I am quite skittish, am I not?"

"Does that bother you?"

"Truthfully, Bolvar," said Kat. "I have no idea _how_ to act."

He smiled at her. "Just act natural."

"But what _is_ natural?"

"However you want to act."

"But what _is_ that?" a note of frustration crept into Kat's voice. She scowled at the board, manoeuvring a rook. "There is no _way_ I want to act, there is no filter within me that paralyses my actions like a schoolgirl frozen from over-analysing every step she takes. I simply do not know…" she hesitated. She hated admitting this stuff, Bolvar knew. The hand she propped her chin on curled into a fist. "I do not know _how the hell_ to act."

"Be yoursel —"

"Ah, yes, and what good did _that_ ever do for me in the past?" The lines on her slanted forehead deepened. He could almost reach out and touch her frustration as if it were a tangible substance, a wall that hung in the air between them. "I do not know how to act, end of — " She gave a low hiss and fell quiet. Her eyes closed as Bolvar made his move. Her shoulders relaxed, the lines in her forehead smoothed and her frown wore away.

He watched her. "You don't have to hide your anger from me as long as you handle it."

_Pathetic_, snarled a voice in his head, a voice he didn't recognise. He blinked. _That is pathetic!_

He frowned. "Did you say something?"

"No," she said quietly, her face a stiff mask. He longed to reach out to her, but how? A chasm stretched between them both. How the hell could he breach it? She'd been so _happy_ on Veil Day…

"You _are_ paralysed," he said. "You can't even admit to me you're frustrated."

"I did, did I not?"

"And yet you caught yourself pretty quickly."

He trod on dangerous ground, he knew that, a fine line between angering her and helping her. Her form grew more rigid in her chair. He moved a pawn to protect his king from check. "I get that sometimes," he said. "I get too proud to admit things."

"What does one have if not pride?" Her scowl returned.

"Pride is the door that closes on many better things in life," said Bolvar.

Perhaps he should just let it go.

"Forgive me," she murmured. She took his pawn. "I do not speak about these things."

He watched her stony face. Her eyes flicked to his champagne flute as he took another sip. She sighed.

Actually _sighed_.

Oh, hell. "You're really not okay," he said.

She didn't answer. He could practically _feel_ her closing in on herself more and more. Shit.

"Are we moving too fast?" he said. "Have I made you uncomfortable? Do you regret what happened?"

"No," she said. "My only regret is I cannot be what I want to be. I cannot even pretend."

"I don't want you to." He smiled at her. "What can I do to make you feel more at ease?"

Kat took his queen and put him in checkmate. They both gazed at the board for long minutes before she spoke. "I do not know," she said, as if resigned. "I am not one to be at ease."

"If you'd rather not pursue this…"

Her brows slanted in a scowl and her posture stiffened further. _Shit_. Wrong thing to say, wrong thing to say! She snapped. "If you'd rather —"

"I just don't want you to be uncomfortable," he said quickly. "Your comfort and ease comes first. _Always_."

The look on her face could only be described as incredulous. "Why?" she said flatly.

"Why not?"

"Surely it is my own problem to deal with?" Her eyes narrowed.

"You can tell me not to stick my nose in if you'd prefer," said Bolvar with a humourless smirk. "But I mean it. I want to do all I can to make you comfortable because I do care for you."

She stared at him, confusion written all over her face. He couldn't help but chuckle. "I… _see_," she said.

"You don't," he said. "But you will."

She paused, gazing at the board. "My comfort and ease comes first," she murmured. "You would relinquish me contrary to your desires over something so petty? That is peculiar. Most men would cling to the object of their desire no matter the woman's discomfort."

"That's because you're no object," he said. "Your happiness comes first. Always. If I get in the way of that I would step aside."

She stared at him like a rabbit caught by a lantern's glow. He practically _saw_ the processors inside her head struggling to grasp a concept so alien to her. "I know," he said. "Some men — and women — want whoever they want, and if that person doesn't want them they're upset about it. They act like they're entitled to that person. They feel angry if that person already has a significant other, and don't care for their happiness. I'll be honest, if you didn't want this I'd be upset, but I'd be glad you did what's best for you. And us, really, this kind of thing can't be forced."

"Can't be forced," Katrana echoed quietly. "And yet…"

"And yet…?"

"Couldn't men who wanted a woman simply rape them? Why go to all the trouble for caring for what they want if you could not simply take what _you_ do?"

"That's disgusting. Kat, I'm not going to hurt you. In _any_ way. Ever.

Kat recovered herself with a shrug. "Well," she said. "If a man managed to do that he would be entitled to his prize anyway."

"Bullshit. You don't believe that."

Kat quietly shook her head. "No," she murmured. "I do not. It is not… but life _isn't_ fair. That is how things are in some parts of the world, if not our culture. Things like this go on every day. It used to be one would marry one's rapist here, but why not anymore?"

She truly _did_ live in her study, oblivious to the rest of the world. It was evident in the way she spoke, the way she acted. She acted as if she expected the world to eat her alive. "Because it's barbaric," he said flatly. He took her hand. It felt oddly warm in his grasp. Was she feverish? "There is nothing you could possibly do that would make me want to hurt you."

She laughed. Bitterly. "Oh, Bolvar, you are _so_ naïve…"

"I mean it." He grit his jaw. "I would never hurt you. Your happiness _does_ come first. I want you to be comfortable around me. You don't have to be afraid of me."

"I am _not_ afraid of you."

"And yet you're afraid of me hurting you."

"Of course not."

Bullshit. But he wasn't going to pursue it. He squeezed her hand and put it down on the table. "At least give me the chance to show you, then."

Her pale eyes alighted on his, burning with curiosity. "As you wish."

"No. As _you_ wish."

"Then show me," she said.

He smiled. "You will see," he said simply. He picked up his half-empty glass. "Oh, damn, are we out already?"

"There was something I wished to ask you," said Katrana, eyeing the glass. Why did she keep doing that? Did she want more? But her glass was almost full.

Had he really almost drunk the entire bottle by himself?

Oh, shit, how embarrassing. His mind felt distorted, but in spite of that he still clung to clarity. So he wasn't drunk, thank the Light.

"Yes?" said Bolvar.

"It regards a book I read when I was quite young. I hardly remember the details, only a vague circumstance that has stuck with me for some time, and I want to ask you about it."

He leaned back in his chair. "Go ahead."

She did not hold his eye, staring at the board as she spoke. "The main character, she wanted to protect some people. Some people very... close to her, you could say."

He liked these discussions. They'd done it before, had playful debates. _What would you do under X circumstance?_ It surprised him how different they were. Bolvar was always more set on doing things right, but Katrana was more of a "the ends justify the means" kind of person. And worse yet, she sometimes convinced him.

"She found herself at the end of an... ultimatum of sorts, that was imposed upon her by her circumstances beyond her control," said Katrana. "She had to protect them, they were her life, her family, everything she loved. But she found herself faced with a choice; either to let them die, or do something… evil. This... particular action, I do not recall what it was, made her physically sick to even think about. It was an irredeemable, disgusting act." She exhaled through her nostrils, scowling. "But if she did not do it, the people she worked so hard to protect would die. What would you do in that circumstance?"

"Find a third option."

"There was no third option."

Bolvar propped his chin up on his elbow. "An unusual thing. In fiction there's typically a good choice and a bad choice."

"Indeed. Life does not work that way."

"No, it doesn't," said Bolvar. "Everything has good and bad consequences. Everything. And sometimes you're stuck picking the lesser evil, whilst the naïve people who don't know what the real world is like condemn you for it."

"What would you choose?"

Bolvar chewed on his bottom lip in thought. "This reminds me of the Culling of Stratholme. Most people are quick to condemn Arthas. If he allowed Stratholme to go unpurged, then the Plague would have spread farther. But purging it meant killing innocents. People would die no matter what he chose. Sometimes we are faced with paths where neither choice is a good one."

He interlaced his fingers behind his head. "But what we have to remember is that evil begets evil. In the end, I'd choose to prepare my loved ones to fight for themselves, because they can. Not even for my loved ones would I do evil. I would hope they would understand."

"You do not think it lacks strength to do what must be done?"

Strength. She always came back to a primal, outdated idea of 'strength.' "At the heart of every evil action is a good intention, Kat," he said. "In the end, nobody cares why you did it, only that you did it at all. Nobody cares that Arthas wanted to protect his people when he purged Stratholme. The consequences of your actions will be the same no matter why you did them. The question is, can you deliberately inflict pain and suffering on an innocent, even in the name of keeping other people safe? Because at the end of the day that is what evil is, no matter who you're saving by doing it."

And paladins lived to do good, and not evil. No matter what.

That was why Arthas failed. He had purged Stratholme, an action that may have ended up saving Lordaeron if everything had not gone dreadfully wrong with Frostmourne, but he still killed innocents rather than preparing them against a bigger onslaught. And though the latter would have had bigger casualties, evil would not have been done.

Katrana picked up an abandoned pawn with her long fingers. "That is food for thought," she murmured, so quietly he almost did not hear it.

He shrugged, picking up his champagne glass. "So what did she do?"

"Mmm?"

He downed the last bit of champagne. He made a mental note to read the label on the bottle. Good stuff. "What did she do? Did she do this evil thing, whatever it was?"

Her ice-coloured eyes gazed at him. She tilted her head again, the weakest, faintest of smiles on her face. He smiled back.

"No," she said. "She chose not to."


	25. Hora's Help

_**A/N: **Sigh. I've lost two pets over the course of writing this story. My childhood dog, and today one of my ferrets. So this chapter is for them, Lucy and Astra. I'll see you on the other side, my lovelies._

_On other news, I now have a few Warcraft novels, including the Shattering and one with Deathwing whose title I forgot. Time to see how badly I mutilated Knaak's creations! (Apparently he's responsible for the different Flights and Aspects.) I had no idea they sold in my country._

_As always, thank you to **Coincidencless** for going over this chapter for me! All mistakes are my own._

_**WARNINGS:** Chapter contains serious squick (not for the faint of heart!) and ableism from Katrana._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

* * *

Katrana couldn't do it.

_No price is too high to pay for the Dragonflight_, she snarled to herself as she stormed down darkened corridors towards her training room. _No price is too high to pay. _

No price but this.

The untouched vial lay deep within a skirt pocket. She had deliberated in the kitchen, gazing at the yellow liquid still within its glass prison…

And she had replaced the cork like a coward.

She had intended to ask about the Dragonbane testing, but she could not act. She never _had_ to act before, never had to hide the scorn or derision she felt for the people around her. Fordragon would have made the connection between her body language and the topic at hand. He'd begun to pick up her habits and manner of speaking, and wondered why…

She touched the chain at her throat. She hissed.

Katrana closed the door to her training room behind her. She clenched her jaw and channeled her rage through her fingertips. Heat distorted the air as she blasted a cone of fire towards the target dummies.

She failed. Because of her weakness she _failed_. Without the child's conception, when the Dragonbane revealed her all their fates would be sealed. There were less than a thousand of them left, and the amount of Broods out there could be counted on one human hand, and that _included_ hers' and Romathis's.

All because she lacked the spine to hurt a human, a human who would put them all to death given the chance. And yet, rape was still rape, and nothing within Onyxia could bring herself commit such a crime, not even for her children. There had to be another way, but she wrung her brain inside out and not a drop of an idea revealed itself.

The Dragonbane would poison her. If she made it out of the Keep alive, she would live to see Blackrock overrun, to see Stormwind's deadly gaze turned on the Broods with weak defences, to see her own children murdered in front of her eyes the moment Theramore discovered them.

Their days were numbered.

_And it was all her fault._

Onyxia felt afraid.

She blasted the targets with all the magic within her until hours later she slumped, drained, against the training room wall. It held the heat like the bricks of an oven, emanating through the silk of her robes. Black strands of silken hair clung to her face with sweat. Her chest heaved as her human form strained to catch its breath from exertion.

She rested her forehead on her knees.

They were _doomed_.

-o-O-o-

"Orion will not accompany me through the Dark Portal," said her companion. "Father's orders. I do not know the way he thinks and do not assume to try."

This was no ordinary dream whose sleepy veil cast a vague blur over fictional surroundings. She saw detailed cracks in the brickwork, the fine mortar between the cobblestones beneath her feet and every star in the sky. Her chest felt the medallion's warmth.

This was memory, brought to the surface by its magic. A memory of Lordaeron's cool palace walls, a memory of a murmured discussion long ago in the dead of night.

They walked shoulder to shoulder; him in his robes and her in the dark-skinned mortal form she favoured whilst speaking to Romathis.

But it wasn't Romathis that walked beside her.

"War is on the horizon," said her companion. He limped, favouring his left leg, a dark scowl on his features. Orange and red robes disguised his wasted leg as he leaned on a staff. Sabel favoured the worst colour in the spectrum. "Soon Stormwind will be recovered, and we must be ready to make our own moves."

"If Orion is not going with you, who will be?" said Onyxia. Her memory played out better than she remembered. But then, the subconscious hid memory in a perfect vault and it did not always wish to give up its treasures to the conscious mind. "Your mates, I assume?" She strained to tear herself from the medallion's spell, and blurted, "Sabel, is that really you? Is this _your_ magic contacting me? Are you alive?"

"Indeed," said the guise of Baron Sablemane. At first, Onyxia's heart rose, until he said, "Lividia, Ravenia and Maleficent are preparing themselves."

"Ravenia?" said Onyxia as the medallion clawed her back into memory. "But she is newly with egg, I had thought?"

"She is," said Sabellian. "But Father insists on her company. I assume he wants her to lay on the other side despite the danger."

"We will see how your lineage matches up to Draenor's natural defences, then," said Onyxia, though her brother frowned. "What of the other — Sabel! Is that you?" She had to fight it. But like going back in time, the medallion stuck to the actions of the past.

"Lividia's brood will accompany us," said Sabellian. "And so will most of Maleficent's, though she will leave Nalice behind."

"Idiocy. Nalice is invaluable if circumstances require — Titans _damn this medallion!_"

"Serinar objected to her potential departure," said Sabellian. He ignored her outbursts, and Onyxia's heart sank. Of course he did. This wasn't him. Just memory. "Violently. He refuses to accompany her and forbids her from leaving."

Onyxia's past self rose an eyebrow, but on the inside her consciousness withered with the weakness of disappointment of a battle lost. "And Father _allowed_ this?"

"Serinar is protective, as it turns out, of his consorts."

"Consorts? I thought they were merely mates?"

She bled into her past self completely, until she forgot she dreamed, until she forgot that she had not seen her brother for twenty years.

"Nalice finally pinned him down," said Sabellian. "And you recall how hard it is to say no to _Nalice_."

Onyxia snickered at the thought of her niece. "I did not realise that Serinar was the type to cave so easily."

"And so she gets the dubious honour of having _Serinar_ as prime consort for the rest of her life," Sabellian crinkled his nose.

"I do not envy her," said Onyxia. "Not one _bit_. Surely the prestige of having him as mate at all is enough?" They had children, therefore they were in the same brood. Why want more than that? Especially with _Serinar_?

"Apparently not — " Sabellian stopped in his tracks. "Ah, humans."

A drunken voice called out from an alcove, "What th'fel does that make _ya_, eh? A bloody alien? Y'don' look like a bloody orc to me!"

"Charming," said Sabellian. "They are drunk. And juvenile. _Wonderful_."

"Oh shit!" said the voice of a young Reginald Windsor. "It'sh Baron Shablemane! And… who'sh the lady? Fuck, the lasht thing we need ish another fuckin' Shablemane… heh heh heh, fuckin' Shablemanesh…"

"Oh godsh feckin' _damn feckin' it!_ Isn' 'e th'guy that terrorished Bolvo when 'e wash shick?"

A third voice said, "Leo, that name ish revolting and if you use it one more time I'll shove thish down your throat."

"_Ha!_ I love ya, it'sh alrigh' — ah, not that way…"

"Leo, you can shove it — "

A trio of teenagers sat cradling bottles to their chests like homeless drunks. Onyxia recognised the crown of brown hair of a much younger Bolvar. Reginald Windsor looked cross-eyed, and though young Leo seemed the most plastered of the lot, he defied all logic and seemed to be most lucid.

"Alien?" mused Sabellian. "Yes, I suppose you could say that."

"Baron," said Onyxia warningly. How could he even _think_ of endangering them?

_It's only a dream_, she remembered._ There is no danger._

She clawed to the surface as if she were drowning in mud.

"They will not recall this in the morning," said the Baron with a smirk.

"Damn shtraight we won'! It's th'ole fuckin' point," said Leo. Onyxia had forgotten how strong his Lordaeron accent had been in his youth. "Bolvar's girlfriend cheated on him. Shtupid bitch."

"So we did the rational thing!" said Reginald.

"We got 'im shloshed! Er... shlosh... sh... damn it."

"How charming," said Sabellian. "Now..." The three boys stiffened in horror. Onyxia felt Sabellian cast out his draconic aura. A mouse scuttled from a hole in the wall and bolted the opposite direction. A veil of terror settled upon the teenagers that pierced their drunken haze like a spear. "_Get. Lost._"

As best as they could under the influence, the boys bolted.

_There_. She broke through, like a whelpling newly hatched from an egg, as Bolvar scurried away with his friends. As he ran further away her strength grew. "Impressive," said Onyxia. "That must be a new record for the amount of times Withering has run into a wall in the space of thirty seconds."

She hadn't said _that_ in her memory.

"I will never understand why humans drug themselves," Sabellian clucked. The dream grew vague around them, the bricks in the wall bleeding into one another. "At least they will not remember my little indiscretion."

"But they will," said Onyxia, reaching for the wall. Her hand plunged through it. Now she spoke her mind with ease. "This is _Bolvar's_ dream, not mine, see the way it falls apart as he leaves? He remembered this. The champagne was stronger than most for my purposes, it must have triggered the dream." As she spoke, the detail sluggishly returned under her attention, her subconscious eager to please her. The dream continued to blur at the corners of her eyes.

"And you didn't drug him." Onyxia felt sadly amused that her recollection of Sabellian did not even break character as he spoke of events that he never saw. "I knew you had good in you, sister."

Onyxia frowned, turning to the shade of her long-missing brother. "And what is that supposed to mean? I have always done good."

"You have always been brutal and ruthless."

"I am not human," said Onyxia. "And neither are you, and so human 'morals' do not apply to us. Do not pretend we are."

"The Titans created human ancestry," said Sabellian. "I have watched the Vrykul since I grew aware of them. I watched them as they sent their children on ships to distant shores, I watched as those children grew up and formed a society of their own. We are not much different. If anything, they are better than we are. We must not be arrogant. Our arrogance will lead to our undoing."

"You are _missing_, and obviously this is not the real you," Onyxia snapped. "Why are you lecturing me from _within my subconscious_? You are not even real!"

"If you are dreaming of this, it means you are entertaining the possibility that I am right." Sabellian looked smug. "Keep that in mind, sister."

Onyxia gazed at him. "I find myself at a loss without you, brother. As irritating as you are."

"Hmph. You never learned to stand on your own four legs, did you? Never learned how to face your weaknesses without me doing it for you."

Onyxia hesitated. "No," she murmured. "I never did. You always forced me to face my fears and talked me through them. I should never have allowed you to."

"It did you good," said Sabel.

"You left Lordaeron court to attend to plans and preparation," said Onyxia. "You came back one more time to say goodbye. After that, I never saw you again. The mission in Draenor failed. The Gronn massacred your people, and in the midst of it the Dark Portal closed and trapped you. It is highly likely you died."

"There is a reason our kind call me _karkunasj_, sister," said Sabel. "All the same, I imagine I was not amused."

Onyxia's lips quirked in a mockery of a smirk. It was no coincidence that the Draconic word for "mortal" — _karkun_ — and "cockroach" were so similar, though any mortals with knowledge of the language overlooked it. "You were the weakest of us all, with your eccentric ideas and physical problem." She looked down at his leg; the leg that every dragon aimed for first whenever they fought Sabel. Over thousands of years, what had once been simply a weak leg had been rendered near-useless from break after break after break, all thanks to kin. "And yet you never died when you were supposed to."

"Mark my words," quipped Sabel. "I do not die easily. I am stronger than you think."

"And I am weaker than _you_ think," Onyxia murmured.

"I do not believe it."

Around them, the dream began to fade and shred. Far away, Fordragon flirted with consciousness.

"Romathis has trapped me," said Onyxia. "I do not know how to escape this without hurting one of the mortals. I know you love them."

"Then you have changed," murmured Sabel, looking at her sideways. "You have learned to respect them as I do."

"I need you," said Onyxia. "You would know what to do."

"Then do as I would, sister," said Sabel. "Do not do anything I would not unless you tell me about it afterwards."

As the dream fell apart around her and bled into consciousness, Onyxia could have laughed.

That sounded like something the real Sabel would say.

-o-O-o-

A clear blue sky stretched over Stormwind. Bolvar kept his hat low over his eyes as he snatched his first free Saturday morning of the year and allowed the cobblestones to take him in a direction he'd gone many times before, but had not for quite some time.

He saw Carlos Hackett and his son Richard by the canal. He would have said hello under other circumstances but decided not to today, instead turning into Old Town. Anduin had been pushing to go to the park, much to Bolvar's dismay, so perhaps he would see them again soon.

And perhaps he'd even see Richard's conspicuously absent mother. In spite of how often Carlos had brought her up, Bolvar was yet to meet the woman. Did she even _exist_?

The bright day found Old Town deserted. Its peak hours came at night when the rest of Stormwind flooded into its many bars and taverns, and subsequently tried not to get shanked in the process. Not even the guards liked Old Town much, and though Bolvar had doubled security since he had taken over Old Town was still far from safe at night.

But the Brotherhood of Cinders was this way, and if anything, they were the only things that kept crime soaring through the roof. Though, for all he knew, they could be responsible for most of it and avoided being pinned down. Their leader was a rogue from SI:7 trained by one of their most infamous and womanising rogues. Bolvar had more than one memory of sheltering Leo in his quarters in Lordaeron because Rudolphus kicked his son out to ravish some woman or other.

He missed his friend. He missed _both_ of his friends. It had been some months since he had spent time with Leo for the sake of it, and he intended to rectify that today, since he'd dreamed about them last night.

That drunken night wasn't the most glorious of memories, but… it was the first time Leo and Reg had done him a favour, the first time they'd supported each other. Even if it was with alcohol.

Bolvar glanced at a burnt-out alley as made his way up the steps in front of the guild hall and pushed the door open. Fires in Stormwind weren't rare; he imagined one of the guild mages had an accident. Beyond the atrium, it looked like everyone had thrown themselves into a full-swing party and went home before someone could be conned into cleaning it up. Usually Leo was on top of things. But then again, it was unusual that Leo hadn't shown up to any assemblies lately. He often popped in to see what was going on with Stormwind.

Outside he heard the ring of swords in a training square, and murmurs off the main room. Floorboards creaked above his head.

"Leo?" he called out. "Feel like a spar and a drink if you're free?"

A woman trotted into the room. "Ah, Jensen," he said, recognising the guild mage. "Is Leo around, by any chance?"

Tarani Jensen stared at him with wide eyes. "Uh," she said. "No. He's away for a while. He had a mission in Kalimdor, he'll be out of contact for quite a while."

Bolvar blinked. Leo _always_ told him when he left! "Really? That's odd..."

"There was an emergency, as I understand it," said Jensen. "I don't even know the full story myself, something about some renegade night elves and some, uh, Grimtotem. And a few... drunk... goblins..."

Bolvar peered at her. Was she even telling the truth? "Get in touch with him as soon as possible and tell him to write to me. Or I'll pester him about it for the rest of his life, and he won't like that."

"Yes, Highlord!" Jensen snapped to attention.

Where the _hell_ was Leo? It sounded like a secret mission, but then, Jensen had never been shy about saying as such in the past.

He wasn't ferreting about in the Steppes again, was he?

Bolvar's heart sank as he left the guild hall. Leo had been drifting away ever since he'd been made Highlord, and even worse still since Reginald had gone to the Steppes, and contact had close to dropped after Reg's disappearance. They'd all been friends since Bolvar had met them in Lordaeron. Leo _always_ told Bolvar when he left Stormwind…

Perhaps he'd disobeyed Bolvar and gone to look for Reg. But what did he expect Bolvar to do? There was a reason Bolvar had not sent out a search party.

He'd already lost Reg. He didn't want to lose Leo too.

But he feared it was too late for that.

-o-O-o-

"You do not take this seriously," said Evenian.

Insolent fool. "Do not accuse me of such," said Katrana, yanking out a drawer in her desk and foraging for a quill. The sheaves of paper in front of her rustled as she got to work. "I take this far more seriously than you do."

"Really? Is it so hard to drug a simple-minded paladin? I thought you were going to do that," said Evenian. "What stopped you?"

"As it turns out, he is immune to the potion." Lying came easy to Katrana. She'd lied for years by now. "And he is just about as eager as I am to consummate this relationship."

"Most human men can't wait to get their genitals into some hole or other," Evenian scoffed. "We will have to adjust our plan, then. It is imperative that you catch as soon as possible."

Pregnancy was always complicated. One had to catch, one had to carry to term, one had to hatch — oh, human children skipped that part. "I _understand_ that."

"I have an alternate idea."

Outside, some infernal bird screeched at the top of its lungs. Katrana shoved her chair backwards and strode to the window. Flames coalesced in one hand as the other opened the window. She squinted through the branches of the tree outside her window. Where was that _fel-damned bird_? "I will not force myself on someone unwilling."

Instead of finding a bird Onyxia's eyes landed upon Jettion lumbering across a branch towards a nest, on the brink of falling. No _wonder_ the bird was annoyed.

"Who said he was not willing?" snickered Evenian

A streak of blue dive-bombed Jettion. There it was! The whelp shrieked and slipped, clutching the branch with only two tiny paws. "Come on, Jettion," said Onyxia. "Surely a child of my brood would have more capability than _this_."

Jettion screeched. Onyxia was certain that if he had put words to it, it would have been a few rude ones to his mother. Dragons were not so different from mortals sometimes.

"You are, of course, capable of procuring a few of Fordragon's hairs?" said Evenian.

What would he want Fordragon's _hairs_ for? One only needed the hairs of a mortal if they wanted to assume their form —

Oh.

For the _love of the Titans_, he was_ not _suggesting_…_

"I have ordered you to depart my study on two separate occasions already," said Katrana, continuing to watch her son. "Perhaps if I forcefully remove you, the third time will be the charm?"

"Broodmother, what must be done for the Flight must be done," said Evenian. "It is simple. You implant false memories within him, and I take his form so that the child will resemble him —"

"_No_. I would rather mate with a kodo." Katrana allowed the fireball in her hand to flare and gave the scorch mark on her door a pointed look. "Remove yourself from my study immediately, before I remove your soul from its mortal shell. Rest assured, not even Omnarion will find your body."

"Don't you know what's at _stake?_" snarled Evenian. "You would let us all _die_! Don't you understand at _all_ what would happen if we did not do this? Your brother needs you to do this!"

Ah, she'd thought as much. "You are out of line."

"I am Scalebane, my _duty_ is to tell you when you are — "

"_Get. Out._"

His eyes narrowed. The form of Lord Fletcher gave Katrana a stilted bow and departed to the cacophony of indignant squawking outside.

Katrana aimed the fireball out of the window, silencing the offending bird in an explosion of burned feathers.

Gods, mating with a dragonspawn was an even worse idea than mating with a _human_. She shuddered.

... But Evenian had a point. She loathed it, but he had a point. There was no way out of this. Not unless she…

_Ugh_.

For good measure, Katrana hurled another fireball out of the window and hit another bird. Satisfied with his mother's assistance, Jettion crunched on the birds' eggs. At least, until the nest fell out of the tree. The whelp followed its plummet as if he could not believe gravity would betray him.

Dragonspawn and dragon pairings were rare but not unheard of, however much the idea disgusted Katrana. They utilised mortal forms for such pairings.

And the resulting mortal spawn were far more warped than if they had only one Draconic parent.

There was no way any child of Katrana would grow up without problems. Physically, they would be fine, but the mortal children of the Black Dragonflight were born... _unhinged_. They grew up paranoid and angry. Mortals could not handle dragon blood pumping within their veins, no matter their heritage.

And two draconic parents would only exacerbate the problem.

But Evenian had a point, as much as she hated to admit it. She would have to mate with _someone_ who took Fordragon's form, and then plant false memories of conception within his head. That way, the deed itself never happened. Then the child would be born resembling him, and... grow up twice as insane, most likely.

She was running out of time. Sooner or later the Dragonbane potion would be ready...

A flicker of panic seized her heart in a tight grip. _She could not lose._ She had to do whatever it took, and…

She paused.

There was another dragon within Stormwind Keep.

_Thank. The. Titans_.

It was almost amusing. Months before the idea of mating outside her Flight would have disgusted her, but now it crushed her with relief. She was not quite sure what Horan/Hora's natural sex was, but it would not matter. Dragons and dragonspawn alike could choose whatever mortal sex they preferred. Mating with a Bronze in mortal form would ensure that the child did not have a double dose of Obsidian blood and therefore was not _completely_ psychopathic growing up — only partially — and it was another dragon.

Another dragon. Another _blessed_ dragon.

She didn't care if Horan was a fel-damned _Red_, she'd missed the company of other dragons. The bonding would be permanent, but she doubted the Bronze would be eager to tell anyone else about it. Her reputation would be safe.

But the question was, how to convince the Bronze? The Bronze had —

The Bronze had offered his help. The Bronze _knew_ this was coming.

_That cunning little —_

She sighed, resting against the windowsill as Jettion licked his chops below. The little whelp was so innocent, and as accepting as a child, in spite of his violence. It wouldn't bother him that he would have a human half-sibling until he was a drake, until he was old enough to understand.

But it did not matter. There was a crack in the wall in front of her. She would be a fool not to take advantage.

-o-O-o-

"Do not look so surprised. You know what I am here for."

"What, you're not going to buy me dinner first?"

Silence. Then, "_I am not amused._"

The quarters of the workers of Stormwind Keep weren't anywhere near as lush and well-furnished as the nobility. Hora Peddlefeet's male, elven form, Horan Bronzewing, owned quarters even more sparse than the rooms of the servants and various workers of the Keep that Katrana had glimpsed over the years.

"Tea?" said the high elf in front of her.

He looked identical to the memory the music box had brought up for Katrana that December. "If you're prepared… put something in it," said Katrana. "A calmative. I _assume_ you are prepared?"

"It was quite easy to stop time and take a few hairs," said Horan. "Yes, I'm prepared to act tonight. And… a calmative?"

"Yes," said Katrana. She paused to consider. "And perhaps some bourbon. I am _not_ doing this sober."

Horan winced. "Are you sure…?"

"Shut up and do it."

"As you wish, your majesty," Horan exaggerated a bow. Katrana glared. "Alcohol or a tranquilliser? Can't do both, that'll poison you."

Katrana paused in thought. "Alcohol. Actually, forget the tea and bring me a glass of the strongest thing you've got."

Horan sighed. "I'll be a moment."

Katrana seated herself in a wooden chair. It creaked beneath her weight. Better a Bronze mate than a dragonspawn or human.

The Bronze returned with a tray. "All these years later, it still feels strange being tall," he said in Draconic. "Usually I take the form of a gnome. I do prefer gnomes, they're quite comical, don't you think?"

"I am still not amused." Katrana took the golden drink. She sniffed it. Her body reported back with a strong scent of alcohol. Perfect. She took a big gulp. "So you know what I am here for."

Of course he did. But she could not find any other way to start conversation.

"It's rather sudden, isn't it?" said Horan with an apologetic smile. "I haven't been too far into the future, but I've been all over the place. It was a bit of a shock meeting the kid, believe me. I knew it had Bronze blood pretty much immediately and thought, _what the hell?_"

"So the child _will_ be born," she said with a sigh. That meant she'd found no other way.

Horan tilted his head. "It's difficult," he said. "I have to watch my words around you. I want to tell you everything, but I can't. If I tell you that you'll have a physical fight with someone and win, that might lead you to becoming overconfident and making a fatal mistake. See what I mean?"

Katrana ignored him. Already she felt a pleasant buzz in her head. "Tell me what Romathis wants."

"I don't know."

"You are a damn Bronze — "

"Not a god," said Horan. "I know a _lot_, goodness knows I've gone through so many versions of this timeline by now trying to get everything _right_, but I only know so much and I haven't even gone beyond this year yet. I haven't visited him, and neither can I see inside his head. Romathis would have me killed the moment I set foot inside Blackrock Spire, and freezing time in there wouldn't allow me to see any action."

Katrana frowned and gazed into her glass. She took a deep draught. She would need to relax for what was to come. "What do I need to do to defeat him? You've seen my future."

"You're helpless, aren't you?" Horan ignored her question. "You have no idea what to do."

Katrana muffled a snarl. "Tell me what I must do."

"I can't do that."

"At least tell me what my future holds."

Horan tilted his head, gazing at her solemnly. "I don't think you'd want to know," he said. "Some things you succeed at, others you... don't. But then, all lives are that way."

"Don't be vague!"

Already, she felt the effects of the alcohol. She so rarely had it in this mortal form, and with its thin frame it was no wonder it took effect so quickly. Her mind felt distorted, with only a pinprick of focus that held onto Horan's words.

"There is only so much I can tell you," said Horan.

"Then tell me what you can."

Horan gazed at her as she drunk once more. "This is an alternate timeline, you know."

Katrana frowned. "Alternate? Yes, I think you said something…"

"Yes," said Horan. "I wanted to change things."

"You are a renegade, then," said Katrana. "Most of your kind are against that."

"Yes," said Horan. "I'm working alone. I know a lot I wouldn't otherwise know, but I don't have the backup of a full team of drakes and wyrms, and I haven't been far into the future either. So this is a precarious mission that has taken me _decades_ of preparation. Even though I've only been here since your October, I've been all over the place, I had to spend years training as a priest as well especially for this. There is still much work to be done."

"What happened in the original timeline?" She was going to forget this later, she knew it.

Horan gazed at her. "You died," he said. "Stormwind found out what you were, and you died. You failed to create a decent bond with Fordragon in spite of your best efforts, nowhere near what you have with him now. I came to change that."

"And the Black Flight?" Katrana felt her heart in her throat.

"It did not end well for them either," Horan murmured. "Or the rest of the Dragonflights." He shook his head. "After you and Nefarian fell, Malygos was next. He went insane, he waged war against mortals. Alexstrasza sentenced him to death, and most of what was left of his Flight died with him just as most of yours died with you. The remains of the Black Dragonflight were next, you fought a terrible war that left you almost extinct. The new Aspect of Earth that replaced Neltharion only ended up a pawn of Alexstrasza, and even that Aspect fell eventually. The Greens found themselves corrupted by a force they believed they had defeated, we were overwhelmed by the Infinite... and Alexstrasza turned on each of us in turn. By the time we realised what happened to _her_, it was too late, and from there even worse events unfolded." He smiled weakly. "I always wondered why my kin did not go too far into that future. I found out one day. It was a barren wasteland. The Burning Legion won with the barest handful of surviving dragons to assist Azeroth's mortals. And it all started here, in Stormwind Keep, on a day when a human uncovered your true identity and killed you."

She should have waited to drink until after the discussion. She groped at comprehension in vain. Her mind opted for the simplest translation. "Bad stuff happened. Got it."

Some people were angry drunks, happy drunks, depressed drunks… she was a _human_ drunk! Genius.

She eyed her glass uncertainly and pushed it away.

"My superiors insist we must not change what is, but I insist we must not cling to what is familiar," said Horan. "I _will_ save you all. But I need your help. You need to do your job here and keep doing it."

"And what of…" Whatshisface? Ah, yes. "Romathis?"

Horan gazed at her thoughtfully. "Let me take care of that," he said. "You do what you came here for, I'll take care of the rest."

"I'm an idiot for trusting you," said Katrana. "I don't believe you're on my side for one moment. The only reason I'm doing… I'm drin…" she gestured at the glass. What was the stuff inside called again? Oh, hang it. "I'm doing _that_ is because if you poisoned me the body would fill this room and they would not be able to remove me through the doorway. The stench would be _awful_. I don't think you're so inconsiderate." She paused. "What a way to go, however. To cause maximum convenience for all involved!" She had to think about it when her mind wasn't sloshed.

Perfect. If the humans cornered her, she'd make sure to die in a room where she could stink up the palace for the days it would take for them to cut her up and get her out.

Horan looked amused. "You've always trusted the wrong people and been too suspicious of those you shouldn't be."

That was a dig at her naïvete regarding Romathis, she knew it. Katrana narrowed her eyes. "So what the hell do you want here?"

"To protect the Flights," said Horan. "To protect Azeroth. To save... well." He laughed softly. "I was a friend of Neltharion's once, you know. Before the corruption."

"The corruption," said Katrana. Corruption. Corruption. Corruption. That was supposed to mean something to her, she was sure of it. "So we were corrupted. Fancy that."

"Yes. You were."

"Did you ever meet Sabellian?" said Katrana.

"I met him in the original timeline once or twice. And I will meet him again, one day," said Horan. "When he was a young whelpling. My future self told me."

Only a Bronze could speak like that and make sense. But then, the alcohol helped. "Before his leg got hurt?"

Horan blinked. "His leg?"

"He always had trouble with that leg since he was a whelpling," said Katrana. "When Deathwing broke it, it only grew worse. Then the others killed it — broked it — _damaged_ it over and over."

Horan blinked at her owlishly. "But he… _eh_? That's weird." He sipped at his tea.

"'Weird?' How?" Weird was a quite interesting word. Weird. Weird. _Weird_.

"The Sabellian from the original timeline didn't have a limp," said Horan. He frowned.

"He hid it very well sometimes." She'd been the only person he _didn't_ hide him from. She'd never attacked him after it got bad…

"Perhaps the beginning of this timeline was tainted as well… curious," said Horan.

Katrana stared at him. "How old are you? Please tell me you are not a drake."

"I am an adult."

"You smell young."

"I am an adult."

"Barely, then," Katrana grunted. "Disgusting."

Horan laughed. "You _have_ been around humans too much!"

"I have _not_... Well, yes. A little. Somewhat. Thirty years."

"I thought Black dragons didn't care about age differences either," Horan grinned at her, sitting back in his chair. "When you can live forever you'd be lucky to end up with a mate that has an age difference of less than a thousand years with you, after all. And consider this, Onyxia: I'm older than Fordragon."

He had a point. "Eh," said Katrana. "Good enough."

Horan took her glass. "I think that's enough," he murmured. "I do not want to take advantage."

"_Take advantage_? I'm the one throwing myself at _you_. For the good of the Flight, of course." Katrana stood. At least she still had her balance. "I do not want to do this."

"I don't want to do anything you don't want me to — "

"Shut up. I give you permission. You need no more than that. Let's get on with it." Ugh. "So you have the hair? Show me."

"Shush," said Horan. "Watch this."

Horan stood up, his blue eyes blazing at Katrana before he closed them. He clasped his hands together. "I am no expert in shapeshifting magic," said Horan. "So it took some practice to get the form down. The hairs helped. As it is, it's not entirely accurate..."

As Horan spoke, his voice shifted. He grew taller, his shoulders expanded, and new clothing summoned from the Nether appeared on his body.

Onyxia stared at the blond Fordragon in front of her, and decided now was an optimum time to utilise a human colloquialism Fordragon was fond of. "_Bloody_ _hell_."

"It — oh my, listen to me, I never get used to the voice changes," said Horan. He looked down at himself. "Have I still got the blond hair? It'll have to stay. At least I got his eyes?"

"You _do_ have the wrong hair," said Katrana. "A shame. Brown suits him. But the green is there, so the eyes are the same, never fear." Her half-drunk mind informed her of an important fact, so she added. "Or fear if you want. It will get you nowhere." There, the Bronze was warned of the futility of such an emotion.

Horan/Fordragon gave her an odd smile. "You're more relaxed now, too," he said. Or Fordragon said. Secretly, Katrana felt grateful for the blonde hair. "Or… actually, it's the alcohol, never mind."

Both dragons stared at each other.

An awkward silence ensued.

"So, um," said 'Fordragon.' "What happens now?"

"Now we mate," said Onyxia matter-of-factly. Being clinical helped. "And then I plant a false memory in Fordragon's head, and tomorrow I nurse a hangover and contemplate mass-murder. And maybe poison Lord Fletcher's drink. The _slime_."

The blond Fordragon stepped closer. "Let me take care of it," he murmured, touching her cheeks. Katrana forced her eyes to close. "Onyxia. I'm sorry. I really am."

"At least you're here," said Katrana. "Or I would have been forced to… _dragonspawn_… ugh."

"Shush," said Fordragon's voice. She felt a touch on her hip.

"And besides," Katrana murmured. "Fordragon is not so bad when my inhibitions are dead. I am grateful it is him, and nobody else…"


	26. The Sacrifice

_**A/N:** Short chapter, alas, but I'll make up for it in the next one! Thank you to **Coincidencless** for her beta work! And thanks to everyone for their lovely comments regarding the li'l fuzzy ones. I miss my pets dearly._

_**Ariaelyne** asked about ableism - ableism is prejudice against non-able people, such as physically/mentally disabled and physically/mentally ill folks. Onyxia stating that Sabel was "the weakest of them all" for his limp is the kind of comment that makes me want to remind folks I don't share my characters' views. And the kind of comment that makes me want to punch her._

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed. It makes me grin like a hellion when I see some people going "Ooh, Bronze/Black!" and others going "NOOOO, NOT BRONZE/BLACK!" and others still going "This is SUCH a bad idea." I love you guys. :D You'll have to wait and see what happens._

_One last thing - if I made a fanfic-related twitter where I post updates on how chapters are coming along and occasional writing-related musing, who would be interested? I'm not sure if it's a silly idea or not. I have a main twitter account but it's got spoilers all over it since I tend to whine about writer's block in it, lol._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

* * *

The covers felt heavy on his naked skin. Bolvar stirred, cracking his eyes open against the dim dawn light.

Where were his _pants_?

And why did he leave his curtains open the night before?

He grunted, shivering, and retreated beneath the covers, but even then the chill bit into him. Bloody hell, naked? In _this_ cold, without a toasty body to curl up next to?

Dim memory stirred.

How drunk did he get last night? He sat up and winced as the cold stung his skin. Why didn't he have a hangover?

His mind strained to free itself from an unnatural, early-morning fog. Mist obscured his thoughts and clogged his mental processes like sand in clockwork.

_Onyxia_.

... Who?

_Help me._

He blinked. _What?_ He struggled to cling to a pinprick of clarity in his distorted mind, as if he were drunk. Vague concepts floated in his head. His mind latched on and translated into words —

_DISGUSTING MORTALS, KILL THEM, SOW DISCORD AND DESTRUCTION, THEY DON'T DESERVE TO —_

He jerked upright. His heart thundered inside his chest at a million beats a second, the haze shattered by the _pure evil_ that sank into his skin and mind. He shivered and held his breath, listening for more dramatics.

Nothing happened.

He shook off the residues of fear that clung to him like leeches. He sought out the pants he normally wore at night and padded into the bathroom, unsettled. What _happened_ last night?

_You slept with Kat_, his mind said.

Wait.

_What_?

Like hell, he'd remember if —

_Her skin felt hot underneath his touch, her lips soft against his, her body writhing in need _—

His skin heated as he stared into the mirror.

Uh. _Right_.

She wasn't that kind of woman. _He_ wasn't that kind of _man_. And yet more memories crept to the surface. _The delicious, soft taste of her lips. The feel of his hands on her curves. Her face, flushed, gazing up at — _

_Whoa, stop right there._ He peered at his reflection to see his cheeks burning and a guilty wince on his expression. He saw no marks on his neck… _but then, her hands had hesitated shyly over his skin, her eyes darted away with inexperienced embarrassment —_

_HE WANTS TO KILL YOU, HE WILL KILL YOU, YOU'RE A RABBIT IN A TRAP AND HE WILL DESCEND UPON YOU AND END YOU — _

He snapped upright, then swore when he stubbed his toe against the counter.

_Please, I don't know what to do, I'm going to die in here!_

_WEAKLING, ABOMINATION, DISGUSTING WASTE OF SPACE, CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT._

_Help me!_

Wild, frightened eyes gazed at him in the mirror.

He couldn't be insane! When the mind was still half asleep it heard things like this. The first voice, a female's, niggled at him with familiarity. That could be attributed to a mind hazy with sleep. Perhaps he'd dreamed about it. The other, booming voice…

_Evil. Buried deep. Unnoticed for far too long — _

Something lurked in Stormwind Keep. It drifted behind people, hid in front of the eyes of the blind, crashed in the rooms of the deaf.

He shook it off.

He was fine. _Fine_! He swallowed his fear, clenching his jaw. He could speak to a healer about it —

_Yeah, right_, he snorted, glaring at the mirror. _And be branded insane, incapable of doing my job, and…_

And they'd take Anduin away from him.

He'd go back to bed. Take today off. He'd wake up after a good sleep and he'd feel fine again.

Right?

_Warning_, he thought dryly. _Sleeping with Katrana Prestor may lead to insanity._

-o-O-o-

The night before, Katrana planted the false memory as soon as she returned to her quarters. It strained at her magic reserves, so she plucked power from her staff and eased it into the medallion with gentle care.

But not enough. As the sun rose, the connection blew wide open and shocked her into wakefulness.

_Shit, I'm screwed._

She blinked, then batted away aspects of Bolvar's personality that threatened to entwine with hers. _I mean,_ she huffed, rubbing her eyes,_ this is most inconvenient and irritating_.

A cacophony of panic, fear and evil crashed upon her. Her jaw clenched.

"Damn it," she muttered. "I'll have to find that bloody dragon — I _mean_," she snarled, struggling through the haze that clouded her mind. "I shall seek out Bronzewing this evening."

-o-O-o-

"Bolvar won't let me go to the park!" said Anduin.

Sammy cast him a desperate look. "Please be quiet, Anduin," said Sam. "I only just got Amandine to go to sleep..."

"He promised we could go again sometime!" said Anduin, lowering his voice but unable to suppress an angry hiss. "I haven't been in _months_!"

"I know he's not too well today," said Sam. Understatement of the _century_, Anduin had never seen Bolvar so pissy. "Anduin, please — "

"Fine," the prince snapped, and returned to his room. The bodyguards drifted around as always, extras on the stage of his life. In the other room he heard the half-strangled cries of the baby, and hissed. Couldn't she _shut up_ for five minutes? She drove him and Sam insane! "He used to go on about how important it was to be a child but he won't even let me get out of this place," Anduin said aloud.

The guards ignored him. They always did, all they ever did was drift about like spectres. He didn't even have Foris and Maeqa on the day shift anymore, only at night. Mathias Shaw was talking about introducing a third shift so the guards had more time off, but the thought of more strangers watching his every move sent a rippling shudder through him. He missed the days of having only Foris and Maeqa, rather than eight freaking guards, six of which were faceless.

A cry started outside of his door.

Great.

"Oh Mandy," he heard Sam sigh. "Please go to sleep." Her voice cracked. "_Please_, darling, you didn't sleep all night..."

And there was Bolvar, who wouldn't even let him go to the park. He'd been cooped up in Stormwind Keep for _months_, pushing himself harder in his studies than he ever had since before his father disappeared, he'd shut up about the search for Varian Wrynn — Anduin deserved at least _one_ day off, but was this granted to him? _Nope_. Instead, suffocating walls closed in on him. He yearned to see a sky that wasn't framed by the roofs of the palace walkways.

Amandine's cries grew louder. Anduin shooed his guards out of his room. They hesitated, unsure what to make of an almost-ten-year-old prince ordering them around, but gave in and parked themselves outside his door. Thankfully, no one seemed to have told them he had no power over them.

Anduin could run away again easily. Stormwind just threw more bodyguards at him, but what was the challenge in running away from faceless strangers? None at all, he'd be out of the window like a shot and nobody would know he was gone until Sam checked on him. Foris and Maeqa knew him like the back of their hands, but they weren't here to stop him.

He heard broken, stuttering humming from outside his room and a soft whimper. "C'mon, girl," Sam begged. "You must be exhausted… settle down, there's a gem… oh, no, not again."

… Sam had tried harder than he had. If Anduin ran away again, she would get in trouble.

He sighed.

That morning Bolvar stormed around the Keep, his body in tight knots, glaring at anything and everything. _You're not a child anymore_, he'd snapped when Anduin had made his polite request. _Damn it, Anduin, you're a prince. You don't get a childhood. I've tried to give you one for far too long but the world doesn't work that way._

And Sam had warned him to be quiet, hadn't she? Even Kair struggled to lull the baby to sleep these days.

And Anduin had woken her up again. He sighed, guilt tangling itself in his bones. He twisted his door open.

He found Sam by the large window where the Winter's Veil tree had been the month before, eyes underlined with heavy purple and the child in her arms. Anduin always forgot how heavy the child was, but this time when he picked her up she seemed lighter than usual. He took the bloodstained handkerchief off Sam and pinched it against the baby's nose.

They both sat on the window seat in a long silence.

"This is happening a lot lately," said Anduin.

Sam sighed. "It's only a nosebleed," she said. "How bad could it be?"

-o-O-o-

Bronzewing had been of little help. "_I_ don't use mind control magic," he'd sneered. "How would _I_ know how to fix it? Stop damn twisting his mind and he'll get better."

"But I have to," said Katrana. "At least until the pregnancy takes."

"Please tell me I don't have to drug you…"

"I informed you already I am _not_ doing this sober."

Bronzewing's shoulders had slumped. "I feel horrible," he murmured. "Like I'm taking advantage of you."

"Oh, for the love of…"

Life went on.

January bled into February, and the winter settled at last into short, dead days of chill that slipped cold fingers underneath doors. Katrana often found the Suicide Squad huddling together in the library while off-duty rather than training outside with the rest of the guards, their teeth chattering. For the first time in years Katrana didn't bother to tell them off for it; the Stormwind winter proved colder than usual and sank into the bones of every dragonkin. Even Evenian's movements were stiff, his temper worse than usual. If he smelled the Bronze on Katrana's body, he never made a comment.

At least humans were used to such temperatures, however much they whined about it.

As the new chief advisor Katrana Prestor's responsibilities stepped up in the wake of Tariona White's incarceration. To the chagrin of the other advisors who'd enjoyed her little absence before Winter's Veil, no longer was a single issue in Stormwind safe from Katrana Prestor. When she made the tiny suggestion that perhaps the Dragonbane testing was not so wise, several pairs of wild, paranoid eyes latched onto her. She never brought it up again, and kicked herself for not swiping the plant when she'd had the chance.

She kept her staff with her at all times, her knuckles white in their grip whenever the Suicide Squad or Evenian so much as _looked_ at it. She would not allow them to take away her emergency escape.

All she could do was prepare. She wrung her mind inside out every day but no plan of attack presented itself as she blasted and exploded target dummies in her training room every evening, her frustration boiling over within. Romathis had her well and truly trapped.

What could she _possibly_ do against him? Perhaps it was time to make peace with her death. Ebonaria sent her a quick response assuring aid, but who knew how useful it would be?

One evening Katrana sat with her quill poised over paper, thinking. She had knowledge to share and pass on to her daughter. Just in case.

She spent the next hour outlining ideas to herself by the light of a steadily-shrinking candle. Outside she listened to the blustery rain that buffeted the grounds. It was a comfort to hear rain. However much she hated water, rain reminded her of the marsh. Reminded her of home.

She wrote of human culture, of mortal interactions and nuances. Like all other dragons Ebonaria knew many mortal languages, but it would not be enough; if the worst happened to Onyxia, the sooner Ebonaria picked up where she left off, the better.

After ten thousand long years, the prospect of her life's end at Romathis's order felt grim. Most dragons died within their first thousand years of life, killed by the elements and disease if not each other. Once dragons emerged from the danger zone they clung to life, repelled by the idea of death with rabid fear.

Katrana had not considered her mortality in a long time. Humans became spirits when they died; there were so many human ghosts all over the place. But what happened beyond that? Where did those spirits go when they passed on?

It wasn't until she began copying her letter for record keeping that she paused. The candle had yet to die, but the shadows of the room looked darker than before. She could no longer make out the weave in the embroidered curtains. She barely detect the smell of candle's smoke.

Fair enough. Sometimes dragons became _too_ human in their mortal forms and their senses dulled occasionally. It was rare for it to happen so suddenly, but not unheard of. Frowning, she attempted to summon the dragon within her to enhance them, to retune them and bring them back to normal.

She ran straight into a wall. She snarled.

So the spawn must have arrived, then. Pregnancy usually enhanced the senses, but Katrana was not surprised to learn that pregnancy with mortal spawn had the opposite effect. Hmph.

Dimly, she felt aware of Fordragon waking in a bad mood with no logical explanation. She curbed her emotions; he calmed down.

How sensitive they had become to one another.

... She didn't want this.

She didn't want a human child, she didn't want a human husband, and whilst she'd warmed up to Fordragon _she did not want to be his mate_. She detested having her fate in someone else's hands _again_. Her jaw clenched.

She snapped back to the present when something shattered. Her eyes probed the room and found no disturbance. She felt Fordragon hiss, felt his puzzlement mix with her anger as he picked up the shards of a glass jug. She dipped into his head easily, saw the glints of light through his eyes, heard a tree creak outside his window and the clink of glass.

_I don't want this_, she heard in his head. She froze.

That was _her_ voice. Not Katrana's — Onyxia's. She had not even thought consciously, and yet somehow her emotions leaked through to him regardless…

_Shut up_, he told her.

She couldn't use the amulet anymore. It was a danger to both of them. They'd blended together too well.

She withdrew.

She had to find a way to curb her temper before the human did something stupid with it.

-o-O-o-

Bolvar had no idea why he'd woken up drowning in hot fury after some vague dream about dragons again, and that only pissed him off more. Frustration and hopelessness followed him into the waking world like shreds of fear from a nightmare.

Onyxia. He'd dreamed about Onyxia. Again_._

_Why the fuck did he keep dreaming about those damned dragons for?_

The voices were bad enough. He felt so detached from reality. He'd snapped at Anduin more times than he could count in the last week, snapped at Samantha Inkweaver. He felt some itch within him to hit something, which only confused him further. He was never violent...

Was he losing his mind?

Outside, the steady drum of rain crashed about in his head.

_Frustration. Loathing. Trapped. Can't get out. Can't get OUT! I don't want this, I want to go home, I WANT TO GO HOME!_

_HE WILL KILL YOU BEFORE THAT HAPPENS_, something roared in answer.

If he didn't almost shit himself with fright every time he heard it, Bolvar would have laughed at the voice's melodrama. Instead his fist clenched over the broken glass of the jug with a loud _crunch_ and he winced in pain, feeling the warm damp of blood trickle through his fingers. Sighing, he dumped the shards in the bin by the sink and lit a candle. He rummaged in a drawer for tweezers and spent the next half hour picking broken glass out of his cuts. Once satisfied, he sealed the wounds with Holy Light. It left white scars across his palm.

The inexplicable anger had faded away, thank the Light. Whatever it was slumbered, watching itself. The frustration remained, but something kept it locked tightly behind a door.

Outside, the rain trickled to a stop. He sighed in relief as quiet descended upon him, then returned to his room and ferreted about in his wardrobe.

He had to get to the bottom of this _now_. He had to read up on Onyxia. What if it wasn't insanity that afflicted him?

_There is a dragon inside me. And something else. Something worse._

The thought made him pause, his shirt half over his head.

What if he _was_ a dragon? What if he'd erased his own memories, what if it was _him_ who had planned everything within Stormwind? What if he'd killed the real Bolvar Fordragon and took his place and erased his own memories? What if —

He would feel ridiculous in the dawn, he was sure. But with only candlelight to keep the flickering shadows at bay, nothing was certain. Either he was very, _very_ sick in the head, or...

Or something else slumbered within him. Two somethings.

He waited for a feeling of embarrassment and self consciousness, waited for himself to brush away the ridiculous thoughts.

It didn't come.

Yep, he was batshit.

He finished dressing and strode out of his quarters. It hadn't been long since his last midnight walk. The guards nodded to him as he passed by. Every now and then he passed another insomniac. The winter's chill stiffened his joints as he walked.

The massive arch that separated the library from the enclosed gardens muffled sound like a door as Bolvar stepped inside. The dying lanterns flickered as he passed through, casting shadows over gold and silver letters on leather spines.

Dragons. Where were the dragons? Where was the book on Onyxia he had seen around?

"Highlord?" he heard.

He turned to see Kair sitting by the dying embers of a fire. Curled up in an armchair beside him slept Myth. A small infant slumbered in the crook of Kair's arm, a damp cloth on her forehead. "Can't sleep either?" said Bolvar.

"The library is not open," Kair frowned.

"I'm sorry," said Bolvar. "I can leave. But something was really bothering me and I didn't want to wait." Bolvar eyed Myth. "Why is he here?"

"We always have trouble adjusting to a diurnal sleep cycle." Kair's eyes drifted over his son. "Anything that gets him to sleep, I am willing to try, so I brought him here and read him a story." He frowned and looked down at the baby in his arms. "Her mother was at her wit's end tonight, she had not slept in a long time, and so I requested she leave the girl with me and get some rest. I finally enticed Amandine to sleep. I think..." he looked up at Bolvar. Only then did Bolvar see the paleness of his face through the sharp, jutting shadows the firelight cast upon his skin. "Bolvar, I think the young one is far sicker than we thought."

Bolvar stepped closer. Myth slept on, unaware of his intrusion. Fordragon saw a sheen of sweat on the baby, orange in the light. The child stirred but did not wake. Kair put down his book and pulled up the child's shirt. He dabbed at the skin with the cloth. "She's so hot."

Bolvar knelt beside them.

"Look," murmured Kair.

Bolvar saw darkened blotches in the dim light.

Inside, cold horror seeped through him. "She _beats_ her?"

Kair shook his head. "No. When Samantha brought her in a few hours ago the child was drenched with sweat from a fever, and so I bathed her and we changed her clothes. The bruises were not there."

Bolvar had never seen the dreamy elf look so solemn before. Kair's voice threatened to break. "They formed by themselves, and they continue to darken. I spotted them half an hour ago when I dampened her down." He patted her with the cloth.

Bolvar's mouth went dry. His eyes prickled as he gazed on the sleeping child. His insides turned to ice. "Anduin said she'd had nosebleeds..."

-o-O-o-

In the early hours of dawn, Hora woke to a knock on her door. She grumbled quietly to herself, half asleep, and glanced in the mirror. Good, she was still in her male elven form. Yawning, she pushed her fingers through golden hair and opened the door.

She blinked at her visitors. The night elf Kair gazed at her, troubled. Myth rubbed his eyes with his fist. Samantha cradled a sleeping Amandine to her, clenching a forgotten handkerchief.

Hora's heart sank. Cold dread seeped into her as she took in the child's feverish appearance. Her throat tightened as her vision swam.

How many times had she played through this, sought another way and found none…?

"You better come in," she murmured in her male voice. _I'm so sorry._


	27. Richard's Secret

_**A/N:** Whoa, almost 20,000 hits! AWESOME._

_Because I finally broke through the worst writer's block ever, have an early chapter. Now I can go back to building my buffer. Whee!_

_While the beta's away the mistakes shall play. Alas._

_Someone asked earlier: the disease Amandine has is real, but because Azeroth doesn't have sufficient technology to know how the disease actually works it wouldn't have the name it does in our world, where it's derived from words in another language meaning something relating to what the disease is. (Try to say that ten times really fast.) Also I'm kind of wary of making mistakes since, while I could find a list of symptoms and a little info past that, most info I found on it was regarding modern treatment. Which, well, Azeroth doesn't have._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

* * *

"What astonishes me the most," said Katrana Prestor, gliding into the room. Her new mate gave a tired sigh and shut the door behind her, "is that priests seem to be incapable of curing a simple disease."

"It's not a simple disease," said Horan. He gestured to a rickety chair. Katrana perched herself on its edge. Horan knelt beside the fireplace with the poker, nudging the burning wood. "Priests can cure diseases, but only certain diseases. Namely, infections." He rubbed an eye with a fist. "Priest spells developed to be of use on the battlefield. In the end, the cure disease spell is nothing but an extra-effective antibiotic... Use your head, Onyxia. If priests were able to cure _any_ disease, the Plague in the Third War wouldn't have been an issue at all, don't you think?"

Onyxia sneered. "Perhaps I am not as educated on human culture as I could be," she said. "So the Blood Sickness is as incurable as Samantha Inkweaver informs me?"

Horan smeared the heel of his hand over a closed eye. He sighed, sinking into a cross-legged position on the floor. "Onyxia… no human up until this point in time has ever survived the Blood Sickness. I don't need to be a Bronze to tell you that Amandine's..."

Silence.

"Surely," said Onyxia, "in the future somewhere there is a cure?"

Horan raised his hands. "They will develop a cure one day, but it's not that simple."

"I fail to see how it could _not_ be," said Onyxia. "Slip into the future, get the cure, come back."

"Yes and no," said Horan. "I could go into the future and do just that. It would be easy. All I would need to do is steal it and disappear."

"And you say 'no' in addition to that, because...?"

"Because it would not be a good idea to cure her."

Onyxia arched an eyebrow. "An infant is dying. What could possibly happen if she didn't?"

"Oh, nothing much," said Horan, sarcasm dripping from each syllable. "Just... eh."

Onyxia snorted, but Horan did not smile.

Instead, he laughed bitterly. "I can't fix her, Onyxia," he said. "Gods know I've tried. I've tried so damn hard. I've been over this timeline hundreds of times, poured so many years of my life into this. It's only been a few months for you, but it's been many decades for me, so many decades. Most of my effort was dedicated towards saving this little sick baby who never did a damn thing wrong in her life." He snorted. "When I changed this timeline, your life wasn't the only one I affected. I saved Leonardo Withering from death the very day I appeared here. And in saving him, in saving _you_, I changed so many other things. Like ripples in a pond spreading out, everything has changed. The big things have remained largely intact, but the little things..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "They're changed forever."

He sighed. "When you told me Sabellian had a limp, I was astonished. I went to investigate. In the original timeline he didn't have a limp. I visited him and hit his damn legs, and he tried to splash acid in my face for it, but there was no weakness in either of them at all." He shook his head. "It took me a long time to find out why he's got that bad leg in _this_ timeline. The truth is, Onyxia, it's not just the future I've changed, but the past as well. This timeline has not only branched off its parent, but separated completely in a way I never knew possible. The main events are still there — the War of the Ancients, the Scourge, and so on... but the little things..."

Onyxia frowned. "Where are you going with this?" she said. "I fail to see what my brother's past has to do with one little girl."

"My actions have had far-reaching consequences I never intended," said Horan. "Because that's how time works. One day, something will happen that did not happen in the original timeline. I've put so much work into trying to isolate the incident, but never found out what specifically caused it. It's a crucial incident that Samantha has to act a certain way for... But in every timeline where I saved Amandine, she didn't do what had to be done and everything was lost, all because Amandine was alive.

"No matter what I tried, it was unavoidable," said Horan. "I spelled it out to Samantha what she had to do, with her babe still alive... but having a child dictated all her actions. She always put Amandine first. In not a single timeline could I spare Amandine and pry her from her mother's hip." He sighed. "She became the most devoted mother anyone could ask for. Whether I had the child kidnapped, taken away, disappeared; it would only tear Samantha away from her duty, from what she had to do. And as a result, all was lost. Again, and again, and again. I have watched this timeline implode so many times it's a miracle the entire thing has not contaminated and I dare not try any longer." The Bronze ran a hand through his hair. "There is no other way, Onyxia. None at all. Amandine is… a sacrifice. But at least in this timeline I can ensure she does not die in vain."

Silence.

Onyxia scowled. "Why does _Samantha_ have to do... Whatever this is?" If she asked what it was, the Bronze wouldn't tell her. "Why not someone else?"

"Because everyone else will be… caught up," said Horan. "Strangers were unreliable, I tried them too. It had to be her."

"Why not me? Surely I could — "

Horan laughed. "Eduard would _lose his shit_ if you — " he pursed his lips. "Damn it."

Onyxia hid a victorious smirk. If she pushed her luck, the Bronze would no doubt remove that little piece of knowledge from her mind. _Eduard_. The name was unfamiliar. She tucked it away. "What _is_ this event?" she said instead. "Tell me. I will make sure what needs to be done — "

Horan laughed bitterly. "Didn't I already tell you I'd tried everything? Timeline manipulation is a delicate art not even Nozdormu can get down pat. I'm far too young to try so hard, let alone..." He shook his head. "If I tell you, your future behaviour will change and everything will be risked." His lips quirked. "Why the hell do you think I spent so many years working on this? It's only been a few _months_ to you, Onyxia! There's so much fine tuning behind the scenes you'll never even see, that you'll never even know of. And..." He smiled ruefully. "I can't always be here, Onyxia."

"You're a Bronze. Of course you can."

Horan shook his head. "I can't. I'll be captured one day. My future self is coming, and when she finds me, you'll be on your own."

Well, that answered the question as to Horan's true sex. Onyxia snorted. "'On my own'?" She echoed. "You could not simply skip past it and appear on the other side?"

"No," said Horan. "She put in wards to prevent that. She said she — that _we_ — had done enough, and it was time for you to save yourselves. All I could do was witness the future, not take part. You couldn't see me, couldn't hear me when I called out to you. For so long I didn't know why, then I saw her capture me..." she paused at Onyxia's puzzled expression. "Sometimes," she said. "There's been as many as four of me in a single instant. It's quite draining." She smiled weakly. "As a Bronze I sometimes don't notice, but when there's enough of me…"

Onyxia scowled. "But the child — "

Horan's fists clenched. "Do you really think I haven't tried hard enough?" The Bronze snapped. "Do you truly think I want an innocent baby to _die_? There's already enough people in this timeline who are going to die that didn't in the original, and at least Amandine is meeting the fate she did in there!" The Bronze's jaw clenched. "This isn't a story, this is a world where no matter how damn hard you try, sometimes you cannot win. I'm not a god, Onyxia. I can't save everyone. I'm a Bronze, we all know we could drive ourselves insane trying to perfect everything, and more than anything this entire event has driven that home to me." He — _she —_ laughed bitterly. "That's why we allowed the Burning Legion to invade Azeroth. It's why we allowed the Old Gods to take root, why we allowed the Plague to happen. So many terrible things happened only because we knew we could never make a perfect world, that if we _tried_, worse things could happen. In a perfect world, Amandine will survive, and the Dragonflights and the entirety of Azeroth will be saved and nobody will be sacrificed..."

Horan slumped back in her chair. "But Onyxia, I've spent half of my life in this timeline by now, and my future self is many times older than me — older than _you_. She's fifteen thousand years old. If there is a perfect timeline out there where everyone lived happily ever after without making a single sacrifice, we have yet to find it." She ran a hand through her hair. "I've already ruined so many lives just by allowing this timeline to live. And yet, in the end, many more will flourish. I have to do this. The price has to be paid in blood. Many will be part of that price, most of them faceless and anonymous to you..." She shook her head. "Amandine is one of them. I'm so, so sorry."

"So," said Onyxia. "You allow one innocent to die to protect many more."

"Yes." Horan swallowed.

"And isn't that what Arthas did?"

Horan sighed, looking away. "And to think, the Bronzes helped him along there too," she murmured. "Sometimes I doubt, Onyxia, if it were the right thing to do. But you tell me; if you had to kill a single child to save your entire Dragonflight, wouldn't you do it?"

Onyxia hesitated. She struggled not to stutter. "Well, death is not so bad — that is — " _Damn it._ "A child _is_ a child, I — "

"You don't know what you'd do, do you?" The Bronze smiled sadly. "Why do you care about a mortal all of a sudden, Onyxia?" she asked in the blood elf male's low voice. "They live such short lives."

"I have been human for far too long," said Onyxia. "I have allowed them to influence me — "

"For the better, I daresay." For the first time that evening, Horan's smile looked genuine.

"_Better_?"

"You think the race is weak," Horan sounded amused.

"Of course they are! They — "

"So tell me," said Horan. Onyxia bit back a snarl. "Why is it your race that faces extinction, and not theirs? Why do _you_ have the entire world against you, and not them? Why is it your Flight that rips itself apart — " Onyxia flinched " — and not mortal society?"

"The mortals _do_ rip themselves to shreds! Must I remind you of the Defias?"

"That is only because you instigated the entire event by denying them payment," Horan leaned forward. "I am not stupid, Onyxia. I know every crime you've committed here."

"I have committed _no_ crime," Onyxia snarled. "My goal is to protect — "

"I know," said Horan. "And I sympathise with you. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions and this will not lead you to the place you want it to go unless you make some changes." He shook his head.

Silence hung between them.

"What was she like?" said Onyxia.

"Stubborn," said Horan. "Cruel. Much harsher than you are. Just as self critical as you are, and not a single person in the world could tell unless they knew how to look." The faintest of smiles tugged at Horan's lips. "But in the end, she heeded not my wisdom, nor that of her brother's. She missed Sabellian just as much as you do."

"No," said Onyxia. "I mean the human child. Amandine."

Horan's smile turned sad. "In the fragments of those timelines that survived, I saw the occasional glimpse of her. She was fiercely protective of her mother. Afraid to leave her side. It was more her who took care of Samantha than the other way around." She sighed once more. "Humans are the least of your worries, Onyxia. In the grand scheme of things there are so many other battles you should focus on, should fight."

"Romathis."

"You'll see," Horan murmured. "For now, rest. Take care of your little one when he or she comes... no, I shan't tell you the sex. Make a friend in Samantha, you will be grateful for it. Dare yourself to look at Fordragon a little differently, to play at being a little more human, to look at humanity as a whole in a different light. You have another chance because of me. Don't blow it because of pride and fear."

Onyxia looked down at the fists she clenched on her skirt. She forced them to relax. "Hora…?"

"Mmm?"

"Will I see Sabellian again?"

"I'm not going to answer that, either way."

"Somehow, I am not surprised."

-o-O-o-

"I can slow the disease and ease the symptoms," said Horan. "Let her stay with me in the infirmary this morning and I'll get started."

A year from now, there would be no Amandine.

Sitting on the wall in the gardens after Bolvar had told her to take a few days for herself, Sam fought the swell of hot tears. Her jaw ached with sinus and her vision swam. She listened as an impatient instructor struggled to teach a couple of noble children some archery by the training square. Samantha gazed at their familiar faces, but no names came to mind. Who cared about noble brats? Amandine may have grown up playing with them, in a world where she survived.

Sam's throat tightened. A small squeak escaped, and a sob escaped as she buried her face in the handkerchief she'd cleaned only that morning. Who knew her daughter had been _dying_, that she hadn't simply had a string of bad luck? Some children simply _were_ sickly…

But Amandine had been dying since the day she was born. She was only a few months old... fresh, hot tears streamed down Sam's cheeks.

Her poor child. Her poor, poor baby, destined to forever be remembered as such and not the woman she might have grown to become.

"Pathetic. Why are you sniffling like some whelp?" said a voice. "_Ugh_."

Sam raised her head. In front of her stood an unfamiliar woman with a sharp, angled face, wearing a fringe and trimmed dark hair not much unlike Sam's own. Her pale face held nothing but derision in every scornful line. Her fur-lined cloak, combined with thick red robes, made Sam sweat just by looking at her.

"What?" said Sam in a whisper.

"Are you so weak and pathetic you'd allow yourself to sniffle like a child in _public_?" the woman sneered.

Sam only laughed. "So what if I am? At least _I_ have a heart." Uptight _bitch_.

"Surely you have _better_ things to do with yourself?" said the stranger. If they didn't look so different, she could have been the spitting image of Lady Prestor with _that_ caustic personality. But even Lady Prestor had been sympathetic. Her eyes had widened upon hearing the news, and the woman had marched off as if to have a word with Death himself. "Or do you enjoy being the object of ridicule?"

"Oh, shut the _fuck up_," Sam spat.

That felt _good_.

Hot anger boiled within her and bubbled over the edge. "Just what the fuck is _wrong with you_?" Sam's voice rose and her fists clenched. The noble children's heads turned towards her. Their instructor cast Sam a glare of death and snapped at the children. "Just what the _hell_?" Her voice grew into hysterics. Sam stood, and her voice ached as she bellowed at the top of her lungs. "What is _with you noble prats?_ You all judge without even considering someone else's shoes, you're nothing but shallow brats in adults' skins parading around with painted faces and a lot of money at your disposal, and none of you could care _less_ about anyone else! Go crawl back into the hole you came out of, you stupid _bitch_!" Her voice rose into a hysterical screech. "_My daughter is dying, that's why I'm fucking crying, now fuck off!_"

She collapsed back onto the wall, hiding her face in her handkerchief. Her anger drained away.

She was _so_ fired for this.

But when Amandine died she had planned on curling up and sleeping forever in a gutter somewhere. If it happened a few months early, so what?

Her _baby_… her poor baby girl…

"I'm impressed," said the stranger. Sam threw down her hands and stared, shock mingling with annoyance, to see a smirk on the woman's pale face. "And here I was informed that everyone in Stormwind Keep was a spineless coward. But then, in an environment filled to the brim with such fools it's no wonder _someone_ cracked."

One moment she'd been mocking Sam, the next she'd been expressing admiration. What the _hell_?

Sam snorted. "What do you want?"

The — noblewoman? Mercenary? Bottom-dweller? — smirked. "I am here for Lady Katrana Prestor, perhaps you are familiar with her."

"I know her, yes," Sam sighed. She wrung her soaked handkerchief between her hands. "I'll show you to her quarters, if you wish. She's usually found in her study when there aren't assemblies. There, or the library."

"You have my gratitude," said the woman, gazing down at Samantha through her nostrils.

The stranger didn't so much as offer her name as Sam led her through the cold Stormwind corridors, instead preferring to shiver under fur that should have roasted her. But she made no move to huddle under her cloak, her chin held high with pride. The woman could be a past version of Katrana Prestor. Although, aside from their haughty expressions, the dark hair and the pride they carried with them like a shield, the two women looked nothing alike.

"May I ask what your business is here?" said Sam. "Out of curiosity?"

"You may," said the stranger. "But I shall not answer because it is none of your business."

She had to be a noble, her mannerisms _screamed_ royalty. Even the Wrynns had never been stuck up like this, so what was _her_ excuse? Maybe she was Varian Wrynn's long lost bitch of a sister?

Sam found Katrana Prestor's door soon enough. Leaning against the wood, she knocked.

They waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Sam sighed. "She wasn't at the library half an hour ago, and there's no assemblies on the weekends," she murmured. "The Highlord's busy, so she can't be with him. I can't imagine where she'd be right now."

"I shall wait," said the stranger.

"You may wait a while."

"And?"

Sam sighed. "I'm Samantha Inkweaver, by the way."

"Do I look as if I care?" said the stranger.

Screw being polite. "You're as bad as the nobles here."

"Isn't it fortunate I do not care what you think?" said the stranger. "Depart, before I choke to death on your stench."

Sam only laughed. "You're welcome."

-o-O-o-

Katrana kidnapped Anduin and Myth by accident.

After her meeting with Horan, Katrana intended to keep Saturday clear and sleep a solid eighteen hours. Unfortunately for her, a certain nine-year-old and his night elven friend accosted her in her study during breakfast, only stopping to knock on her door before giving Katrana a puppy-eyed look, the picture of innocence. "Bolvar won't take us!" said Anduin. "Can you take us? Please?"

She sighed. Weekends had two days, so... "Why not?" she said.

The pale sun betrayed a winter far from receding rather than the deep, vibrant colour of summer. Katrana drew her cloak tightly about her, but it did nothing to erase the chill from her bones. Not even the sun's weak rays helped. _The solstice has long passed_, Katrana reminded herself. _The days grow longer. Spring will arrive soon, and then I can relax._

As most days, the city thrived and buzzed with people. Katrana pulled her thick hood over her head, shying away from the glances strangers sent her. Anduin wore a similar disguise, bouncing along ahead with Myth. The bodyguards followed, as conspicuous as if they wore clown suits. Stupid _twits_. These new guards hardly possessed a brain between them.

The walk to the other side of the city stretched long into the morning, and soon enough Myth whined about sore legs and how _tired_ he was, and couldn't they have a break? Katrana did not object as the three of them sank into a bench beside the canal. Katrana lay her staff across her knees. The four bodyguards milled around and attracted stares as if they had never heard the phrase "act natural." Katrana considered shoving them into the water.

The laws of reality dictated that whatever dog lacked a tail of decent length should wag his entire backside, and Crithto, Myth's little pug, was no exception to this rule. Big brown eyes complete with trembling lips focused on the boys.

"He lies," said Myth. "I gave him a big breakfast this morning. He's only pretending that he's starving."

"Do I _look_ as if I have food?" Katrana snapped at the dog. Her response only excited the dog further.

A nearby wolf prowled in a forest of legs, eyeing them with yellow eyes. Katrana looked around for its absent hunter. _Hmph_.

"I packed food," said Anduin, patting the satchel at his hip. "But none of it is for doggy. Sorry, Crithto."

"None of it _is for dogs_," said Katrana.

"What she said."

The dog sniffed at the bottom of Katrana's shoe. The wolf lurked closer as around them, mercenaries and civillians alike strode past one another on personal quests of their own. Crithto turned around and barked. The wolf's hackles rose.

"Will you keep that dog under control?" snarled a stranger. The night elven hunter shot them all icy glares and pulled her wolf away.

"Under control?" Anduin's voice rose in protest. "That beast's straining to get back here! What kind of idiot lets a _wolf_ loose in a city?"

"Do not speak to me like _that_." The night elf rounded on them.

"And neither should you — "

Katrana tuned them out, and summoned the dragon within as the hunter struggled to drag her wolf away. Katrana allowed her aura to spread into the air around them. Crithto stiffened, whimpered and hid behind Myth's legs. Both boys tensed. The wolf turned around and strained at the hunter's grip, tail between its legs, and Katrana felt smug with satisfaction. Good, sent the dreadful mongrel running. The hunter's head snapped up and stared straight at Katrana —

_Damn it._ She reined in her aura and shoved it into a dark corner of her mind. Crithto relaxed. The wolf's hackles sank back to its skin, then the animal tried to charge off as if nothing had happened. Through the fabric of her hood Katrana felt the hunter's gaze upon her, before she turned and strode away. Katrana hissed under her breath with frustration. _Stupid_. Why risk everything just for a damned _wolf_?

Perhaps this pregnancy affected her _brain_. In the wild casting out such an aura sent wild animals in a several-mile radius scurrying. Even humans picked it up, growing tense and fearful without knowing why. But only a powerful hunter could sense it if it were allowed to leak...

Katrana adjusted her hood in discomfort. "Let's go," she said.

Better to get as far away from the hunter as possible.

-o-O-o-

In a feeble attempt to be accommodating, the sun grew a little warmer as they entered the park. Katrana scowled as the two boys tore off across the grass, the bodyguards trailing after them like lazy shadows.

A bush rustled to her left. Katrana turned her glare on it. A small squeak betrayed Richard Hackett's presence before he bolted from his shelter deeper into the park.

"I am going to the Mage Quarter," she informed the only bodyguard left. His glazed-over eyes snapped to attention. "Defend the children."

"_Naturally_," the guard said, a tinge of annoyance in his tone.

She barely heard the twitters of the birds in the trees as she left the park, their chirping muted along with the rustle of leaves and the gentle breeze. She had felt deaf and short sighted ever since the pregnancy started. Her nose was as good as useless, too, and she found herself looking around her in compensation, for what good it would do. Her eyes had deteriorated as well. Her scowl darkened further and further. How easy it would be for someone to sneak up on her and attack her.

But now, it was time to meet Mrs Hackett.

If she were particularly unlucky, she'd run into Carlos Hackett as well. He raved about his wife's dress shop whenever Katrana had the misfortune to talk to him, his eyes sparkling with hope as he extended an invitation to come visit his faceless wife. "He is _not_ attempting to sleep with me," said Katrana the night before when Bolvar brought him up over chess. She didn't deny his attraction to her; she smelled it every time she spoke to him.

"Can I help it if I'm jealous?" Bolvar had sent her a smirk which loosened the scowl on her face even to recall.

"You have nothing to be jealous off," she had muttered in response. The skin of her hand tingled under his touch.

The Mage Quarter held a hush in the atmosphere, as if some invisible spell held the usual cacophony of the city at bay. The unnatural quiet, coupled with Katrana's near-deafness, set the hairs on her arms on edge. She strained to hear, but her ears ignored her command, only permitting the barest whispers of the leaves and grass and the distant murmuring of mages. She shook her head to clear it, but sound continued to elude her. She bit down on the insides of her cheeks in frustration, but the iron taste of blood did nothing to pacify her frustration.

Blasted human _spawn_. And she had to deal with this for _nine months_? What if her hearing never returned? And her eyesight was hardly any better. Greens and blues blared at her, reds and oranges looked dimmer, making her environment look surreal. The beginnings of a headache throbbed. She peered into the distance. A sign she should have read with no trouble at all refused to relinquish its letters. She couldn't even see the grain on the wood.

Did she need _glasses_? She rubbed her eyes, but her vision did not clear.

She'd rather deal with perpetual morning sickness than _this_.

In spite of her half-blindness she found the dress shop, conveniently labelled "Mrs Hackett's Tailoring." How original. A brass bell tinkled annoyingly above the door as she pushed it open. She resisted the sudden urge to slam it and tear out her useless eyes.

A girl looked up, standing in front of a pile of fabric. Around them stood racks of clothing like trees in a forest, the warmer colours dominated by greens and blues. The girl brightened as soon as she saw Katrana. "Oh, hello!" she said.

Katrana took in her fresh face, her flat chest and short stature. Even Samantha looked older than that. "Is Mrs Hackett here?" she said as regally as she could, raising her eyebrows and leaning on her staff.

The girl gaped at her. "Eh?"

"Mrs Hackett," said Katrana, narrowing her eyes. Did she have to spell it out for girl? "Or did I misread the sign?"

"Um," said the girl, continuing to blink at her in utter confusion. "Uh? She's not here?"

"Perhaps I should come back later?"

The girl continued to blink at her, before comprehension dawned. "Lady Prestor!" she said. "_Oh!_ Mr Hackett said you might come by sometime, but that was ages ago, I'm sorry! You — " she tittered and giggled. "Oh, I'm sorry, I can serve you just fine, Mrs Hackett is out and she won't be back for quite some time, she's got a meeting with some other merchants about trade agreements and all that stuff, you know how it is."

"As a matter of fact, I do not," Katrana drawled. "Do I look like a merchant to you?"

The girl blushed. "Sorry!" she piped. "What do you need?"

Fortunately, the store had no shortage of loose, flowing clothes. The sooner Katrana changed her style to hide her currently-invisible pregnancy, the better. Mrs Hackett, according to the chatty assistant, made most of the clothes. "She usually holes herself up all day and just sews until someone comes in," the assistant yammered. "Business is slow and quiet, but that's how she likes it, and it makes ends meet well enough. Of course it helps that Mr Hackett has the farm and so on, but harvest only comes so many times a year — well, of course it does. And there's little Richard, and, well, I don't see him much 'cause he usually comes in with his mother then runs off for the day and she's all 'Let him take care of himself and make his own mistakes, he's not an idiot' which is a rather odd way to parent but it seems to be working and — "

Katrana stopped listening.

She didn't even have to so much as nod along as the assistant chattered. Katrana walked away an hour later still without having glimpsed the mythical Mrs Hackett and with several squishy parcels under her arms. As long as the Hacketts stayed away from her business, she cared not. Perhaps she'd meet the woman, perhaps she never would.

Still, she could not deny that there seemed to be something odd about how invisible she was...

-o-O-o-

"Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine... fifty! Ready or not, here I come!"

Anduin's guards lulled by the moonwell as the prince whipped around, eyes searching. They drew stares from all the night elves that passed by, but Anduin ignored them all, ducking into alleys and rummage through bushes. "I'll find you!" Anduin flitted from hiding place to hiding place. "I'm not about to be defeated by a little ki… oh, wait, you're forty something. Never mind."

Anduin looked around, blushed, and hoped Myth hadn't heard him.

"Psst," said a voice.

Anduin looked around him. Nobody was watching. Satisfied, he picked up a stick and jabbed the bush that talked to him.

"Ow!" said the bush.

"You're an ass," said Anduin.

"Am _not_, I came here to warn you!" said the bush. Richard Hackett's dark head popped up from the bush, his sharp features arranged in a worried frown.

"I'm _playing_," said Anduin. "With Myth. You know, the boy you treated like _dirt_?"

"He's just an elf," Richard rolled his eyes. Anduin narrowed his own. "Oh, fine — please, come here. I couldn't in good conscience just, you know, not warn you."

"But you seem to be okay with punching little _kids_."

"I'm sorry, alright?"

"If you're here just to rant about elves, I'm not interested." Anduin turned on his heel.

"No," said Richard. "It's about Lady Prestor."

Anduin stopped in his tracks. He glanced over to the moonwell. One of his guards picked his teeth. The others occasionally glanced in his direction, unconcerned that he was talking to a bush. "I still don't like you," said Anduin, turning to him. "But what could you _possibly_ have to say about Lady Prestor? She's nicer than _you_ are."

"Keep your voice down," Richard hissed. "I was told not to tell you, but... well, I felt bad."

"You only feel bad about beating me up because you got _caught_," said Anduin.

"Oh, that? That was wicked." Richard's eyes lit up with a grin. Catching Anduin's look of thunder, he amended, "Er, that is, Lady Prestor apparently chewed out my friends' parents. It was _awesome_. If you watch from a distance. With binoculars. And wearing a full set of armour. And a hearthstone. Just in case." His voice lowered, glancing towards the bodyguards. "Especially if you know what I know... I don't want them to hear"

Anduin sighed. "Out with it."

Richard continued to gaze at the bodyguards. "You have to promise not to tell anyone," said Richard. "If the wrong person finds out a lot of trouble could happen..."

"Fine, whatever," said Anduin. If it were bad, who cared about keeping a promise to _Richard_? "What is it?"

"Lady Prestor is a monster."

Anduin should have laughed, but instead the boy's solemn eyes, widened with subtle fear, and serious tone sent chills down Anduin's spine, as if confirming something he knew deep down already. "A monster," he said, dredging scepticism into his voice. "Right."

"She is," said Richard desperately.

Anduin gazed at Richard. The boy looked reserved, and every muscle in his body tensed as if poised to run. "You really believe this," said Anduin. "Why?"

"I don't know the entire story," Richard admitted. "I overheard Mum telling Dad about it, one night. She was crying. She said Lady Prestor's a monster, but I didn't hear much more than that before they found me and made me promise not to tell anyone, then they made me go to bed."

"I didn't know Lady Prestor even _knew_ your mother," said Anduin. Then, "What kind of monster?"

"A scaly monster," said Richard. "A powerful sorceress. A dragon."

"A... dragon?"

Oh. _That_ meant business. The Dragonbane testing hadn't begun yet, and there was the diplomat who'd turned out to be dragonspawn, and Lord Fletcher had recently gone missing... "You mean dragonkin?" said Anduin.

"No," said Richard. "An actual dragon."

"And your mother told you this," said Anduin. "Who _is_ your mother? Have I ever met her? Is she in the Brotherhood of Cinders?"

Richard shook his head. "You haven't," said Richard. "And I can't tell you. I don't want her to get in trouble. She won't even leave the house 'cause she's afraid of meeting Lady Prestor. She knows her secret, you see. And if Lady Prestor found out about it..." Richard's eyes grew wide. "Please don't tell anyone. _Don't tell anyone._ My Mum will die if she finds out!"

"I promise," Anduin croaked. "I have a lot to think about now. But don't worry, if she's a dragon, we'll find out soon enough. There are... measures being put in place to detect dragons."

"Don't tell anyone I told you," said Richard. "_Please_."

"I won't, I promise," Anduin said again. The bush's leaves rustled as Richard disappeared behind them.

"I wanted to warn you," said Richard's voice. "Just in case. Mum didn't want me to, though. But... you're the Prince. You should know, of all people. I'm going to — " the bush froze. "Where's Lady Prestor?"

Anduin blinked. He looked around, and swallowed. "I don't know."

"Shit!" said Richard. The boy scurried from behind the bushes and bolted up the hill and towards the canals.

Anduin watched him, his heart heavy. The guards continued to loll and lazily patrol the park. They hadn't heard a word.

Richard was only a kid. But what if he was right?

-o-O-o-

Katrana returned to find one boy in a quiet reveri and the other about to climb the walls with hyperactivity. "Are you well, Your Highness?" she said to Anduin as Myth and Crithto tore around in circles.

"Yes," said Anduin. Crithto stopped spinning and was promptly sick on the grass. "I'm tired."

Katrana arched an eyebrow when he didn't even meet her eyes, but the affairs of a single boy were hardly her concern. "Did Richard do something?"

There. Anduin stiffened. "No," he said quickly. "Why do you think that?"

"He all-but crashed into me when I departed the Mage Quarter," said Katrana. "He looked quite spooked."

But Anduin wore no bruises or showed signs of any injury. He could fight his own battles until he asked for assistance. Needless to say, if Richard laid a hand on Anduin again, Katrana would read the Hacketts the riot act. She tried not to smirk at the thought.

Myth asked about the packages she held, and barely allowed Katrana to answer before he started yammering happily about his own clothes and how he wanted to knit a jumper for his dog but Crithto hated wearing clothes, and how dogs liked to be naked, and Katrana tuned him out as well. Anduin quietly entertained the night elf and by the time they returned to the Keep, their feet dragged against the tiles and stone in exhaustion from the long walk. The late afternoon tinted the Keep with orange light.

"You took him out, I see," Bolvar sighed as they returned. "If it weren't for the fact the bodyguards weren't here I'd have thought he was kidnapped."

The four bodyguards shot Katrana glares, as if it were all her fault they neglected to inform him. "My apologies, Highlord," she said. "I will alert you in future when I take him out."

"Make sure you do," Bolvar gave her a wavering smile. He fell into step beside her as the boys disappeared down a side corridor. "New clothes?"

"Indeed," said Katrana. "I thought it time for a change. I visited Mrs Hackett's shop."

Again, that faint tone of jealousy. "What's she like?"

"I did not meet her."

"Did you see Carlos there?"

"No," said Katrana. "I did, however, encounter young Richard on my way out of the Mage Quarter. Rather independent boy, is he not?"

Bolvar grunted. "If his parents didn't let him run around like a wild thing he wouldn't be so violent," he said. Then: "That reminds me, Miss Inkweaver says you have a visitor who, from the sounds of it, isn't the kindest person in the world."

"A visitor?" Katrana frowned. Bolvar's head swam with thoughts, but none of them gave her any image. The voices were quiet.

"I haven't met her myself," said Bolvar. "It was mid morning that Sam ran into her — rather, that she ran into Sam."

"What is her name?" Was it Ebonaria?

"I don't know, she wouldn't even give it to Sam. She's probably stopped waiting by now, anyway." He smiled at her. "In any case, have a good night. If you need anything, come find me."

"Indeed." It wasn't until the Highlord beamed at her that Katrana realised she'd given him a soft smile. Suddenly self conscious, she looked away.

Katrana made it to her front door alone. She fished for her key, but found her door already unlocked.

Odd. She locked her door every morning, without fail. A sneaking suspicion made itself known, and she cast a gentle spell. Blue light hovered about the doorknob before it faded.

Blue. Telekinesis. Someone very good at manipulating objects with their mind had picked the lock with magic...

She only knew two people who had that skill, and one was in Outland. The other...

She twisted the doorknob, and stepped inside. A fire crackled in the grate. The stuffy room threatened to stifle her.

But what should she expect from a dragon used to the heat of the Obsidian Shrine, a dragon not yet accustomed to human temperatures?

A silhouette stood at the window.

"Did nobody ever teach you to knock, Nalice?" said Onyxia in Draconic.

"Broodmother Onyxia." The silhouette turned around, and Onyxia recognised her niece's favourite human form. "My cousin stated you found yourself in need of assistance. I came to offer mine."

Onyxia suppressed a grin.

_Yes._

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Anon review replies! ... Hi._

**_JustMe:_**_ Just for you! :3 I don't always respond 'cause I don't always have something to say, and I'd feel horrible if I answered only some people and not others. Review replies might not always be here but they won't disappear entirely for the foreseeable future._

**_Zeitlos:_**_ Ooh, thank you so much! Your review made my day. I often worry about characters, I'm glad to see I'm still on track with them. :)_

**_Ariaelyne:_**_ Thank you! I feel cruel to poor Bolvar._

**_Seripithus:_**_ Come hell or high water, I'm updating regularly. I always worry when my favourite fics don't update often, fearing the trickle will stop entirely, and I'd hate to do that to people reading this so it's my top priority. Thanks!_


	28. Revelations

_**A/N:** Okay, so this fic is turning out waaay longer than I expected. I honestly thought I'd be done with part one by now, but it's, um. Not gonna happen any time soon._

_To all those who are fretting about Bronze/Onyxia happening, I do intend to cover what exactly being mates means to dragons (in this fic, I'm not actually sure when it comes to canon, I tend to fill in a lot of gaps I see in canon) at some point in the future._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

* * *

"Judging from the expression on your face, my presence here is welcome," said Nalice.

Onyxia realised her smirk was broad enough to be mistaken for a grin, but didn't allow herself the indignity of scrabbling for control.

Pride first. Always.

Instead she said, "I am surprised _you_ came. Is the Obsidian Shrine too dull for you? Where is Serinar?"

"Serinar is in the Shrine, it is still most difficult to pry him away from it no matter how empty it has become the past few thousand years," said Nalice. "I visited Dustwallow to see my favourite cousin when..." she frowned, sniffing the air. Her eyes narrowed, and she eyed Onyxia as she spoke. "... when your letter arrived."

Damnation. There was no way Nalice couldn't smell… "You arrived with swiftness. Good."

"I have no fear of humans, nor of teleportation," said Nalice. Her nose crinkled.

"And what do you intend on doing with yourself here?"

"Whatever you bid of me."

"Good," said Onyxia. "First and foremost, I want you to remain here until I release you." The _last_ thing Onyxia needed was for her to inform the other dragons of Onyxia's… _condition_.

There was little doubt Nalice could smell it. Pregnant women always smelled a certain way…

And if she told, things would get a _lot_ worse. Perhaps Romathis had planned for that…

Onyxia gestured to an arm chair in front of the fire. "Sit."

The stuffy room closed in on her, but Nalice did not even shed her fur cloak as she sat. Onyxia's overheated hands gleamed with sweat. She glanced at the fire. She always used to stoke it this much without a problem, and only humans found the room too hot when she did…

Did mortal pregnancies come with fevers as a side effect?

"Your presence here will have to be minimised," said Onyxia. "The humans gathered Dragonbane and have distilled it into a potion which they intend to feed to every noble and visiting diplomat, possibly more. You are hardly here on official capacity, but you may be at risk, for being a new face."

"_Ah_," said Nalice. "And that would explain why you have… ensured you will not be exposed." Her eyes narrowed.

"Unlike some, _I_ am not afraid of doing what has to be done to protect the Flight," said Onyxia.

"And here I thought you impregnated yourself with human spawn for the fun of it," Nalice snorted.

"Quite the opposite, I assure you," said Onyxia.

"A human _mate_. Disgusting."

_Isn't it fortunate my mate is a dragon? _"I agree," said Onyxia.

She lowered her eyes to Onyxia's stomach. "I'm amused. But why order my cousin to bury your eggs?"

"Romathis may take advantage of my current _problem_ to steal my unhatched children," said Onyxia. "He intends to trap me. If I did not catch with child, the Dragonbane testing would have caught me."

"I do not see how that is _his_ responsibility."

"It was him who suggested it, through one of his scalebanes," said Onyxia. _Because I was too busy with books to steal the plant while it was still possible!_ "He knew I would have had to either give in or abandon my post, and we all know how dangerous abandoning my post would be at this time. And yet, now I have insured myself I would be powerless to stop him should he make a move on my brood. Romathis, I believe, has the false impression that his force is big enough to invade, and therefore does not need me anymore."

Nalice shrugged. "If that is true, why does he not simply invade already? And it seems like a logical solution _anyone_ with low enough standards would suggest."

"_You_ would risk us just for the sake of pride," said Onyxia. "_I'm_ not afraid to stoop to such levels. No price is too great for our safety."

"Pride is everything."

"Not if we're all dead," Onyxia snapped. "And no, I do not know why Romathis simply does not attack already." She gazed into the flickering, orange flames which emanated searing, uncomfortable heat. Who cared about the Stormwind winter? It would be a relief to feel it! "He plays some kind of game, and I am ignorant to the rules. That is why _you_ are here."

"I _see_," said Nalice. She lounged back in the armchair, and Onyxia half expected her to begin purring like a cat. "And you wish me to uncover these rules."

"Civil war is on the horizon," said Onyxia. "If I lash out in defence of my Brood, he will jump on the chance to decimate us and take the Flight for his own. He has been outside of Stormwind all this time, there is no reason why he has not been gaining allies in the rest of the Flight."

Nalice frowned. "If that is true, he knows I would not take his side."

"Play ignorance."

"_Obviously_." Nalice shot her a look of annoyance. Onyxia met her eyes. "I know I must, but he still will not tell me anything."

"Investigate. Look around. Use your _head_."

Nalice's eyes narrowed further. "Like you did, I see," she remarked, looking into the fire. "You could have found a better way."

"I could have? I'm waiting for your suggestion."

Nalice scowled. She did not speak for a long time, and when she did it was to say, "Am I correct in assuming that the Highlord has something to do with your... condition?" She gestured to Onyxia.

Onyxia glanced down at her still-flat stomach, and wondered how long it would be before she showed.

Though a lot of female dragons did not become broodmothers, Onyxia found comfort in being pregnant and having young — bad symptoms and obvious drawbacks aside. She'd had a clutch every time her mating time came, and…

… It was like carrying a part of home with her, even if her body were different. She was a mother, a protector above all else.

Even if it was _mortal_.

"You would be correct," she murmured. Her tone sounded too weak for her liking. "Humans are easily swayed by those they feel affection for, and so I play it in my favour."

"And get a little pleasure for yourself in the meantime," Nalice smirked.

_Ugh_. "I take none in it," Onyxia said.

Nalice snorted. "_Everyone_ has tried it out before in mortal forms."

"Don't be disgusting. I did not until recently, and made sure I was drunk first," said Onyxia flatly. "Though _you_ appear to be different."

"Really?" Nalice arched a sceptical eyebrow. "Ten thousand years and you and your mates and consorts _never_ —" She frowned, and murmured, "Then again, this is you. If you're going to use a mortal, make sure you at _least_ enjoy it, you may as well reap what few benefits there are."

"Some of us don't lose sight of our goals, Nalice," said Onyxia. She crossed one leg over the other.

"Whatever you say," said Nalice. "Perhaps Sabellian turned you off mortals with his little… pets."

Dragons did not always use titles with their parents. Nalice hadn't called Sabellian 'father' since she was a drake. "I never met any of his mortal associates."

"_Associates?_" Nalice snickered. "So what is it you wish me to do?"

"Visit Blackwing Lair," said Onyxia. "Give me whatever information you can, and do _not_ get yourself killed."

Nalice rose and bowed. "I have one last question. That Samantha girl, the one who led me here, do you know her?"

"She looks after the prince on occasion," said Onyxia. "Her child is deathly ill. Why do you ask?"

Nalice's eyes glinted, a small smirk twitching one corner of her lips. "I think she is worth keeping an eye on, if you ask me. That hatred she has for nobles… it may come in useful."

-o-O-o-

Ash curled in the air like burnt paper. The air reeked with dead fear and the stench of burning corpses. The smoke-wracked sky pressed in on them.

And in a yard, unaware of the end of the world all around him, a boy played, watched over by a silent man.

Chocolate hair hung over green eyes as the boy tugged at his mother's hand. His older self stood by a wall, staring into space with a frown as the scene unfolded in front of him. The blonde woman laughed. "Alright, alright," she said. "I'll push you. But you're old enough you should be able to swing _yourself_, by now."

The two figures walked as if through water, as if Bronze magic had slowed down time. Onyxia looked around for Hora, but could not find her.

"Bolvar?" said Onyxia, to the man by the wall.

"Mmm," was all he said.

It was the boy in the swing who looked up. "Yeah?" he said. His older self did not even blink.

A man stepped out of the house, and turned to look at her. She saw streaks through his hair, the same colour as his son's, and blue eyes that seemed softer than she was used to in the Highlord's eyes. His gaze slid past her as if he had not seen her, and fixed on his wife and child as they played.

She turned to look at the young Bolvar again, who couldn't have been more than five in the dream, but mother and son had forgotten her presence and now the young Mrs Fordragon pushed her child on the wooden swing. The older Bolvar did not move, standing as if in a thrall. The house stood alone, the only structure remaining in the perpetual blaze that scarred Stormwind. Around them, weeds and plants had begun to spring up in the ruins, nature claiming Stormwind as its own in an attempt to bring it back to what it was thousands of years ago, defying the magical fire. The canals, empty of water, were now filled with stones, charred wood and bricks.

In the distance, a man in orange robes picked herbs.

Onyxia hissed and clenched her jaw, tearing her eyes away. The Highlord's visage by the wall threatened to fade away. His younger self sat on the now-still swing like a statue, green eyes empty. His parents were gone.

Perhaps, on a certain level, she could empathise. Both _her_ parents were gone now. Sintharia had been killed hundreds of years ago.

"Kat." The boy on the swing stirred. His body had grown to that of a teenager's as the other Bolvar became more withered and translucent. "I'm glad you're here. I miss you, when you're distant."

But he did not look at her, and Onyxia walked away from him.

Bricks and rubble slid away as she lowered herself into the canal, passing a destroyed bridge, and picked her way back out again over a pile of ruin.

By the smouldering crater of the park, caressing a green shoot, knelt the man in orange robes. He crouched, framed by the shattered and burnt-out planks of wood around him. Bricks, with mortar still clinging to them, lay scattered at his feet. His right leg looked withered away underneath the fabric of his clothing and when it pulled taut she made out the outline of a brace underneath.

"I'm sick of you invading my dreams," said Onyxia. "Begone._"_

"Oh yes, command your subconscious to do what you want it to, that has _always_ worked in the past," Sabel said. The plant bloomed white underneath his touch. His fingers closed over the base of the stem, the roots pulling free from the cracks in the stone with little resistance. He placed it gently in his bag, as if it wouldn't wither away and die in hours.

Onyxia sighed. "Of course, I should have known you would state something so… Sabel-ish. It is such a Sabel thing to say."

"Or perhaps it isn't," said Sabel. "Perhaps it's merely because you are dreaming that you think it is something I would say. Dreams can fool people like that. Some don't even need to be asleep to fool themselves." He rose from his kneel. "Once upon a time, as a drake, I thought I was a seer, unable to tell the difference between fantasy and reality. I was as immature as a whelp."

"Leave me alone," said Onyxia. "You're missing. Probably dead. Or are you alive out there, somewhere? Too weak to find a way back home?"

"Or perhaps it is you who is weak for not coming to find me."

The statement left her reeling. "We owed you nothing," Onyxia spat.

"You all owed us everything," murmured Sabel, looking down at another plant. Silverleaf. He gently eased it from its place in the rubble. "And you know it. We sacrificed ourselves for you. Deathwing abandoned us to our fate, to be massacred by the gronn. And you? You didn't come after us. You could have tried to reopen the Dark Portal, but you didn't, did you? You left us to die."

Onyxia's chest tightened. "If you were strong, you would have found a way."

"And yet, you need us right now, don't you?" Sabel smirked at her maliciously. "You're trapped in Stormwind, thinking, _if only Sabel were here, he'd know what to do._ Instead, you're forced to rely upon my less-than-charming daughter. You are burning bridges, you are allowing chaos to descend upon all of you as the Flight teeters on the brink of a civil war... you're doing a _wonderful_ job without us, dear sister."

Onyxia narrowed her eyes.

No excuses. Even Sabel loathed excuses. _I'm doing the best I can!_ She wanted to say, but it was not good enough, and they both knew it.

"You should treat your mortal better, too," said Sabel.

Onyxia sneered.

"I spent many years among mortals," said Sabel. "I know them well."

"You spent time among them because you were a coward!" said Onyxia. She gestured to Sabel's withered leg. "You hid from our kind so they would not use your weakness to kill you."

"So I disapprove of dying," said Sabel. "Don't you? And no, that was not my reason to be among mortals, though I admit to being barely able to stand our kind. Don't you remember what I told you, long ago?"

He sank onto a stone bench smeared with charcoal marks. Without a word, Onyxia sat beside him. Her chest felt hollow. "I think…" she frowned. "You told me something. A story. A dream — that dream you had as a drake."

"You remember?"

"No," said Onyxia. "But my unconscious would. Tell me."

Her subconscious, in the guise of her brother, went on. "I was a drake, when I had it, the most vivid of nightmares that left me unwilling to sleep for months before exhaustion claimed me. Over the millenia, time diluted it until the waters of my memory of it ran clear. But from time to time something would trigger the memory and bring the dream rushing back as if I had never forgotten..."

"It was about a mortal," said Onyxia. "I recall now. A vrykul."

"When the demon soul tore our father apart, it was traumatic for all of us, especially his consorts and mates," said Sabel. "But it is what happened after that gave me nightmares. Seeing him made of plate that barely held him together... _that's_ what scared me. It triggered a nightmare so vivid and lifelike that I felt as if it were some kind of... some kind of vision of the future."

She remembered this. She remembered him telling her this; the two of them as three-thousand-year-olds, mere whelps compared to what they were now.

The dream shifted, morphed and changed until they sat upon an edge of a cliff and watched a vrykul village below, the village Sabel had been in for hundreds of years in various guises as the generations grew old and died. He'd fancied himself their protector, until warfare wiped them out. Sabel could not protect them even then. In the dream their forms shifted until they were two vrykul with their legs dangling over the abyss, millenia before the birth of Baron Sablemane and Katrana Prestor.

"In the dream, I was a whelp," said Sabel. "And Deathwing held me in his claws. But it wasn't the Deathwing we knew as children, it was the powerful Deathwing as he is now, a being of fire and magma. It hurt me for him to even hold me, the plate heated my scales but not enough to burn. A battle waged on around us fought on both sides by mortals and dragons alike. I knew at that moment I was going to die, that he was going to kill me."

"Then it was not real," said Onyxia. "Back then, he was made of flesh and blood like the rest of us."

"But some dreams are so vivid they remain with you forever," said Sabel. "All the Flights fought against us. The mortals nearby gazed up at me in horror, looking tiny from my height. They were afraid for me, and I learned why quickly enough. Deathwing's razor claws tightened around me, and cut through my scales and hurt me." He touched his hair, his eyes staring at nothing. "At that moment, the dream fragmented and shifted so much I thought it was about to end, but it didn't. Instead, below us, a mortal stepped forward."

"A woman," said Onyxia. "A vrykul."

"Yes," said Sabel. "She stepped forward and begged Deathwing, the Aspect of Death, for my life. I was but a tiny whelp, a little weak thing being crushed in his grip, and she wanted to save _me_." He tilted his head. "After it was over I remember she picked me up and cradled me to her, and through the agony it was a comfort. She helped heal me." He straightened up, smoothing his robes over his legs. "And when I woke up I was convinced, for quite a long time, that she had been real. That Deathwing threatened me even before he became Deathwing, that a vrykul woman had saved my life. Enough time had passed that though she would be old, she would still be alive, but, of course, I never found her." He smiled faintly, an action which raised Onyxia's hackles in reflex. Of course, the fool would do such a _human_ thing! "But in the journey I gained a new appreciation for mortals, found kinship in those the rest of our Flight despised. And so I never truly left them if I could help it. I left on occasion when my mates and consorts called for it, but when my children and broods did not need me, I dwelt among the short-lived mortals." He gazed down at the village. "And I followed them. I followed them as they gave birth to small, sickly creatures that escaped death across the seas as one by one, the clans of their parents disappeared into hibernation. I watched their children build their new society in the Eastern Kingdoms. And for a long time, I was a part of it too." He smirked. "They still have no idea that three of their most famous alchemists were actually _me_.

"Don't be unkind to your mortal," said Sabel. "When your bond is cemented you will be his guardian, his protector. Our kind threaten him, but when you become his mate you will be obliged by our laws to protect him from anything that threatens him." He shook his head. "Treat him better, Onyx. He never asked for this. Think like a human, but keep the spirit of the dragon within you."

-o-O-o-

"He insisted I remove myself from the Spire," said Nalice. "The third time I almost lost an eye."

Katrana frowned, swallowing against the nausea that rose within her throat. Within the week Nalice was gone, the beginnings of morning sickness had flared up. "It's a bit of a misnomer," Hora had told her. "It can appear any time of day."

Dragons did not get _morning sickness_.

But mortals did, apparently. Katrana nursed a coloured glass, hoping that the terrible sense of smell humans had would not detect the ginger drink within. The herb eased the illness.

"He guessed my true allegiance," said Nalice. "The fact he did not even fake civility is concerning, to say the least."

"You were gone for a week," said Katrana. "Did you not have a look around?"

"I slipped inside whenever I could," said Nalice. "You are correct in that the army there is no match for Stormwind, though they are working very, very hard. It could be finished within two years, I can estimate, from what I saw. I finally acquiesced to his request when he became… _violent_."

Katrana frowned. "So he wants to play it cautious, then, though that does not explain his sudden activity. What would Serinar think of this?"

"His opinions are his business," said Nalice. "I see him taking the side which he estimates to be stronger, unless I can help it. And the odds do not lie in your favour, aunt."

"He fights the coward's battle, then," said Onyxia.

Nalice narrowed her eyes. "His priority is the wellbeing of the Flight. He is quite adamant that the strongest should lead…"

_And you have not been proving yourself as such_, the implied words hung between them.

"Stand by me, whilst I think," said Katrana. "I shall come up with a plan."

Nalice echoed her thoughts. "_What_ plan? I am at a loss and cannot see any good options."

"Rent a house in the city," said Katrana. "Remain close by. If you were to use your connections to me to obtain quarters of your own, you would find yourself at the end of the Dragonbane testing sooner or later. At least if you are not part of the Keep in any official capacity, you can avoid it."

"For however long," Nalice murmured. She scowled. "Is that dreadful female _still_ crying?"

Katrana bit the insides of her cheeks. She'd barely heard the sniffling from the other end of the gardens, but Nalice's still-sharp ears did not betray her as hers did. On a wall, eyes red, sat Samantha. She held her baby close, cheek on top of little Amandine's head.

Ignoring her niece, Katrana strode towards the mortal. "Is Amandine unwell again today?"

Samantha smiled weakly up at her. "She's always unwell," said Samantha. "But she'll be okay."

"That is not what you informed _me_," said Nalice. Never before had the urge to cringe become so overwhelming. "I thought the child was dying?"

"Yes," came Samantha's choked voice. "She is."

"Then she is not going to be 'okay' then, is she?" Nalice sniffed. "Fool. Do not be so emotional. If death cannot be prevented there is little use crying about it."

"And may I present to you overwhelming evidence to support the case that Nalice may not be of my brother's blood after all, and that his wife must surely have been impregnated by a common ogre," said Katrana.

Nalice's eyes narrowed. "You — "

"Oh, forgive me," said Katrana. "For offending you as such. I am quite certain that the ogre must have a good pedigree."

"_You_ — "

"When in Silvermoon, Nalice," Katrana quipped. Nalice glowered at her father's favourite idiom. "Do at least _pretend_ to possess a heart, will you?"

"At least I have a _spine_," snarled Nalice.

Katrana's jaw clenched, but before she could retort Samantha interrupted her. "Lady Prestor?" she said. "Could you please hold Mandy for a moment?"

"You would not honestly _touch_ it," said Nalice.

Katrana saw the spark of determination in the young human's eye. "Of course," said Katrana, placing her empty glass on the wall.

The child's weight was oddly light in Katrana's arms as the child snuggled into her.

Samantha smiled sweetly at Nalice. Her fingers curled into two tight balls.

Nalice only let out a disgusted snort as she snatched Samantha's wrist, her fist mere inches from Nalice's face. "That was pathetic," said Nalice. "If you are going to assault me, at least do it _properly_. But you know what, I find myself bored. I shall offer you a good shot in the training rooms, where you are less likely to get arrested for your insolence. Consider it a favour."

"You'll regret it." Sam attempted to tear her wrist away, but Nalice did not let go, stretching her lips with condescension.

"Then do accompany me," said Nalice. "Lady Prestor, perhaps you would wish to watch."

"What an honour." Katrana's words dripped sarcasm as she rocked the half-sleeping infant in her arms. "Samantha, please put her in her place."

Katrana directed Nalice to one of the training rooms not far from the outdoor square. The room stretched almost as large as the banquet hall. Gleaming weapons lined the walls. Various equipment lay scattered across half the room, including pull-up bars and weights, leaving the other half bare of all but a few sparring couples. Firm mats ensured that once Nalice was done playing with her food, Samantha would not get concussion after Nalice knocked her to the ground. Now that her nausea had subsided, Katrana pondered the possibility of having a spar herself.

"I see we are not alone," Nalice wrinkled her nose. "There is nothing more charming than the stench of sweat, would you agree, Inkweaver?"

Samantha made a soft, strangled squeak in her throat.

"Ah, I forgot, shirtless males often prompt that reaction," said Nalice, as if she were discussing bowel movements.

"Highlord," said Katrana, dipping into a curtsey as two men, wearing only cotton pants, approached. Bolvar grinned, running a hand through damp hair as sweat dripped down his face. Behind him, Adam Rivers sported a few bruises. "Sparring with the captain, are you?"

"He just finished kicking my — oh, I see we have polite company," said Rivers. His eyes flashed towards Nalice, confusion settling in. "Pardon me, my lady."

"I had an advantage, he's been training the Squad all morning," Bolvar said. He wiped his face with a small towel. Katrana noted the well-defined, firm muscles of his chest and arms. He _had_ been exerting himself…

Katrana glanced up to see Bolvar smirking at her. She hissed and tore her eyes away, cheeks burning.

"And who is _this_?" Nalice drawled, eyeing the Highlord with disgust.

"I don't suppose she's a relative of yours, Lady Prestor?" said Bolvar playfully.

"You would be correct," said Katrana, forcing herself to meet his eye. His smirk only grew. Katrana glared at him. "Highlord, allow me to introduce you to a… long lost relative of mine. My niece, Nalice, who recently found me. Nalice, this is Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, Regent Lord of Stormwind."

Nalice swept over in a bow low enough to be called mocking. "Highlord Fordragon, what a _pleasure_."

"I was not aware Lady Prestor had a niece," said Bolvar.

"I found her only this week," said Nalice, rising. "Please pardon me, I was about to help this woman… vent. Samantha — that was your name, was it not?"

"And still is, unfortunately," said Samantha. "Dreadful, isn't it?"

Now _this_ was interesting. Who knew Samantha Inkweaver had a spine?

Nalice snorted. "I suppose it could be worse. Have you trained in combat at all?"

"I'm a rogue."

"Huh," said Nalice. "And here I thought you were a spellcaster, that would have explained the pathetic attempt at attack. You hit like a girl."

Not even Bolvar dared snicker at that.

A couple of others in the training room steadily perked up in attention, gazing towards their little cluster. A couple of members of the Brotherhood of Cinders doing pushups on the other side of the square had abandoned them in favour of open staring.

"Funny, that," said Samantha.

Nalice strode to the centre of the square. Katrana perked, anticipating the violence with eagerness. How long had it been since she watched a good brawl? Nalice beckoned to Samantha. "Well, hurry up. Hit me."

Samantha hesitated.

"Or shall I hit you first?" Nalice sneered. "You will not even follow up on your desires, how _pathetic_. Who taught you to be such a doormat? Was it your mother? Or did you possess a spineless father?"

"My mother was not a _doormat!_" Samantha fell for the cheap taunt, fists clenching.

_Fight!_ Katrana heard the booming voice from within Fordragon's head, muffled by the cooling down of the amulet. The Taint. _Kill the mortal!_

To his credit, Fordragon did not even flinch.

"Ah, so it was your father," said Nalice. "Was he your mother's bitch, then?"

It went as predictably as Katrana guessed. Mouths fell open as Samantha snarled and charged towards Nalice, but not a single punch landed. Nalice dodged, blocked and danced away from Samantha's hits, frustrating the human more and more. "Miserable," said Nalice as Samantha began to falter. "You cannot _honestly_ be getting tired already. Put your back into it, you little _bitch_."

_Kill her, let her blood paint the walls!_ Katrana felt the Taint's bloodlust rise within her.

Katrana heard Bolvar mumble, "Stop being so melodramatic."

_Talking to the voices in your head, now?_ Katrana said to him in her Onyxian voice. Bolvar jerked upright and looked around self consciously.

Amandine stirred in Katrana's arms. Her eyes still fixed on the one-sided fight, she rocked the infant. At a small whine from Amandine, Katrana looked down. The child's mop of dark hair clung to her face with sweat, her face ruddy. Katrana brushed the hair from Amandine's eyes, and the baby blinked up at her miserably before her eyes drifted shut again.

"It will not always be so miserable, young one," she murmured.

_It will end, one day_, she heard Onyxia say in Bolvar's head. _One way or another. Death is… not so bad, I would not think._

What would her own child look like? It slept on within her, free of illness, aware only of the hot safety of her womb.

In front of them, Samantha grew angrier and angrier with each failed attack on Nalice. Nalice danced between Samantha's hits with a smirk. "Nalice," said Katrana. "Your form is terrible today. Legs further apart, don't _skip_, that would only make it easier for her to trip you."

"If she had the skill, perhaps," said Nalice. And when Samantha swiped her legs towards Nalice, Nalice dodged again. "Don't kick, you fool," Nalice snipped. "It _looks_ good but is asking for trouble, and is terrible technique. Let me show you how it's _really_ done."

_Good, finally!_ said the Taint, the dark voice snarling inside Bolvar. Katrana felt Bolvar's twinge of horror, guilt and misery. _Kill her already!_

She felt its glee as Nalice struck out at Samantha. Every hit landed, but Samantha refused to yield as her body grew tireder and tireder. _Beat her to within an inch of her life — _

Did Nalice possess the Taint, too? Did it whisper to her unheard, or did she think it was her own thoughts? Katrana tensed in horror as Samantha fell backwards at last and Nalice pulled her fist back —

Nalice quietly allowed her arms to dangle by her sides.

The Taint raged within Katrana, starved.

"Ow," said Samantha. "Fuck."

_It's been so long since I saw a good kill —_ Katrana stopped her thoughts in their tracks. The Taint writhed and snarled in Bolvar's head, and the Highlord quietly rubbed his temples, his stress emanating from him in waves.

But Katrana felt cold. _My child will feel that one day_, she thought. _All children of the Black Flight do, and the mortals are no exception. He will not be able to resist it, not be able to control it. When he is old enough he will slaughter others and revel in the blood he draws, and until the humans kill him he will be a menace to their society…_

Katrana's hold on Amandine tightened. Nausea broiled inside her, churning her stomach. It had nothing to do with morning sickness.

What had she _done_ to the life inside her?

"I thought she was a caster," said Bolvar, looking at Nalice's robes. "Bloody hell, you haven't even broken a sweat! Miss Inkweaver, are you alright?"

"The floor broke my fall!" called out Samantha happily. She stumbled as Rivers helped her up. "Ow. How's Mandy?"

"She is fine," said Katrana quietly.

"That was pathetic," said Nalice.

"You are hardly in a position to provide criticism, your technique was terrible," said Katrana. "As I said, do not _skip_, you are asking to be tripped. Do not duck so dramatically like that, in a real fight one could have easily gotten a stab in and ended you. You left far too many openings in your attempt to show off."

"If you're so good, why don't _you_ fight her?" Bolvar suggested with a wry smirk. "Without any spells."

To Nalice's credit, when she blanched, she covered it up quickly.

Katrana smirked. She held out the infant. Bolvar took Amandine with bemusement, resting her against his shoulder.

Katrana looked back to her niece. "Weapons, perhaps?"

Nalice tilted her head. "If the possibility of me killing you does not worry you, then certainly."

"I have no fears for my life."

Katrana chose a pair of swords from the wall and held them both out. Nalice hesitated for only a moment before choosing the sharpest one.

"Lady Prestor, with all due respect, aren't you a mage?" Bolvar sounded worried, chewing on his lip. "This really isn't..."

The members of the Brotherhood of Cinders looked amused. "I want to see this," said one of them. "No, I need to. _I need it like air!_"

The dwarf beside him nodded. "Ten gold on the angry lady."

"Which angry lady?" the first Brother snickered.

"The one who just beat the crap out of Inkweaver."

"That's not fair, it's obvious she's going to win."

But Nalice looked wary as the two women circled one another. Of course, she had plenty of reason to be — she was four thousand years behind her aunt.

Katrana grinned at her.

Nalice's snarl was instantaneous. "I'll wipe that smile off your face — "

Katrana rose her sword with barely a flick of her wrist to block Nalice's strike, before she whirled it around to the side. Nalice's own sword rang in the air as she parried.

Just as Samantha had been, Nalice was doomed from the start. _Every_ dragon knew how to fight in mortal form, and Katrana had mastered it thousands of years ago. Barely did Nalice have time to raise her sword before Katrana struck. Both women panted, leaping to and fro, spinning, slashing and thrusting only to be foiled again and again.

"Bloody hell," said Bolvar, as Katrana drew first blood — a scratch on Nalice's cheek. "They're going to kill each other."

_Kill. Wound, maim, injure, disable, destroy —_

_Oh, shut up_, said Bolvar's voice.

Hearing the Taint, and remembering how it would desecrate her child, drove Katrana in helpless fury as her slashes sped up. Nalice fell onto her backside, and Katrana pointed her blade at her niece's neck.

_How easy it would be to just sever her spine_, the Taint whispered to her._ The blood would shower everywhere. The Titans purge the weak, just as they deserve, and she deserves it for allowing herself to lose..._

Nalice gazed up at Katrana through ragged strands of dark hair, half-kneeling on the floor, her eyes hard with loathing.

Katrana lowered her sword. Only then did she see the way her audience gaped at her. "Well," she said. "Point proven — "

In the corner of her eye, Nalice moved.

Reflex flicked Katrana's sword to clang against Nalice's, before she sliced. By the time her conscious thought caught up to her body, Nalice clutched her side in expressionless pain.

Katrana's sword glimmered red. "Do not sneak up on someone with a weapon unless you want to die."

"That was a dirty trick," Bolvar growled, continuing in his head, _They could have killed each other!_

Blood beaded and flowed between Nalice's fingers.

"Shit," said Samantha.

"Somebody retrieve a priest," Katrana called out. As Rivers broke away, Katrana knelt by her niece.

There was only one language every Black Dragon understood without doubt, and it wasn't Draconic.

Katrana gripped her niece's chin hard, and snarled at her under her breath in their native language. "_Remember your place, Nalice. You have been petulant and obnoxious to me. Pregnancy or not, do not forget why I am Broodmother of the Black Flight. Do not forget that if it weren't for the walls that surround us, I could kill you easily. Do not make me regret sparing you._"

Nalice gazed at her angrily, but said nothing as Katrana released her and stepped back. Bronzewing clucked as he strode into the training room, seemingly unfazed by Nalice as he bent beside her. Nalice's eyes widened — no doubt the Black had just caught Bronzewing's scent.

"Nalice is not a waif that would blow away in a breeze," said Katrana, as Bolvar stepped closer. "She is strong, she will recover. She can handle this."

"And much more." Nalice lifted her chin with pride.

_That family is nuts_, thought Bolvar.

-o-O-o-

Samantha took her daughter back, following Bronzewing from the room. The Brotherhood of Cinders drifted after them. "We have to recruit that lady!" said the human, but the dwarf frowned, troubled. Adam Rivers clucked, picking up the abandoned weapons and taking them away, leaving Katrana alone with Fordragon.

But she frowned in thought now that the atmosphere had settled down. Never before had she particularly cared that her mortal child would be cursed with the Taint. Why did she care _now_? Why did the mere thought horrify her?

At least it would take a few humans down with it. But Katrana's attempts at reassuring herself did not fool her, and she felt uncomfortable at her change. Now Nalice had arrived, it became all-too clear how mortal-like Onyxia had become.

"I'm sure Nalice will be fine," said Fordragon. Katrana blinked up at him with a frown. He smiled at her. "You didn't cut deep, Bronzewing said it didn't go down far at all, she'll be in and out in only a few minutes, I bet. And as you said, she's a… well, if your brother's your half-brother she's not a _Prestor_, but the same thing applies?"

"I have not known her long," Katrana lied, "but I do not doubt much could stand in her way."

"She's like you in that regard," Bolvar reached out to touch her cheek. Katrana sucked in her breath. "We're alone, don't worry." He stepped closer. "You seemed to have warmed up to her already, it usually takes you a while…"

"Jealous?" said Katrana, too conscious of how close the human stood. He had been satisfied with how slow their relationship had developed, for him to suddenly be so affectionate…

He smiled. "Maybe a little," he said in a quiet murmur. Only a small space remained between them.

Katrana Prestor's human body took the opportunity to note that Bolvar was still half-unclothed. Onyxia squashed that thought flat before it could lead anywhere disgusting. _The human body has a mind of its own_, she recalled her father saying long ago. She wished he hadn't been right.

He stroked her jawline. "I so rarely get a kiss from you."

Damn! Did she not please him enough? Seeing the look on her face, Bolvar smiled at her. "I'm not complaining," he said. "I enjoy our little chess games, enjoy reading beside you… as long as you're there."

He came closer — a brief touch against her lips, before he drew back with a smile. "I'll see you at the next assembly, then."

For a long time afterwards, Katrana stood on the same spot, staring into space as she thought about her future, the future of the child inside her, and the soft, gentle affection of the human who demanded far less of her than she had ever expected he would.

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Writing the dialogue of dragons gives me a headache. If you think it's bad in here, they sound even more melodramatic in canon... uggh._

_Thanks to all who reviewed!_

**_Kai:_**_ 'Tis quite a big burden for a child to bear, as if he doesn't have enough on his plate!_

**_JustMe:_**_ Part of the reason I loved HP so much was all the death. As morbid as that sounds, I love it when I'm brought to emotion by a story and HP did just that. Not everyone can be saved, no. And yes, I read Frostblood, it's an amazing fic I kind of read several times because I am addicted._

**_Anon:_**_ Not a flame at all! As I said above I hope to make it clear just what exactly is going on between Hora and Onyxia soon, but it may be a while in coming depending on where I can squeeze it in._

**_Seripthus:_**_ Hmm, it wouldn't reveal too much if I told the modern name for it, but I'm not sure if some people want to figure it out as the story progresses and don't want to spoil it for those who are. I can guarantee you've heard of it, but not everyone may be familiar with the symptoms._

**_Zeitlos:_**_ Eee, reviews like yours always make me happy! And poor, poor Hora. I think she's learning the hard way what it's like to be a Bronze._

**_Ariaelyne:_**_ I'm really pleased to hear that! :D And yes, time travel hurts the brain. A lot. It always amuses me how whenever paradoxes are involved in fiction, people tend to shrug because there's no way for them to ever make sense._


	29. Damage Control

_**A/N:** We have a winner! Somebody's successfully guessed what Amandine has. Horan drops a major hint in this chapter for those who haven't guessed yet who want to figure it out for themselves._

_Having said that, the pressure's now on - apologies for any medical!fail in this chapter, or the story overall._

**_ETA:_**_ Fixed an inconsistency. Nope, Amandine is most definitely not supposed to be in that scene. She was in the first draft but I cut her out and missed a spot. :|_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

* * *

The bin sat beside Katrana's desk, half-filled with paper. It had yet to be filled with anything else, but today nausea rolled within Katrana, more active than usual, and sipping the ginger drink on her desk did little to help. Her head threatened to split from the inside out, throbbing in pain with every beat of her human heart.

The high pain tolerance her dragon form owned refused to work as a mortal. For the last few weeks she'd counted the minutes until every assembly ended, discreetly swallowing back her bile and using all of her willpower not to throw up onto the stone floor in front of the nobility. Morning sickness was a long battle to endure, and at night, it only grew worse. Fatigue clung to Katrana like a shadow, and now she slept every night for at least eight hours. With less time and focus to work, it piled up on her desk. Her stomach was yet to change in size, but she wore different, loose clothes anyway. Better that she started early, without anything to hide, so people would not be suspicious later if she managed to keep it hidden. Bolvar liked her change in fashion, but always frowned when the smell of whatever dinner he prepared on Friday nights sometimes made her blanch in illness.

And to think, there were still seven odd months to go. Several more months of hiding illness from court and everyone around her, of trying not to look too pale and sickly, of struggling to maintain concentration that eluded her. How could a tiny mortal be so _powerful_ within her, so demanding of her body's resources?

Hmph. Mortal weakness. If she was a _dragon_, she could carry dozens and dozens of eggs and she wouldn't be affected this much! No wonder mortals only had one young per clutch.

Every week, Bolvar frowned when she visited his study. "Are you _sure_ you're alright?" he said, taking her cloak from her shoulders and hanging it up on the stand by the door. "You've been quieter than usual and you don't look well." He touched her arm, green eyes pleading. _Don't shut me out_, he said. _Please. You're always so distant… I want to know you._

At his silent plea, she frowned faintly, lowering her gaze from his. "My new duties are somewhat overwhelming," she said, instead of the brusque brush-off she'd planned. "I will be fine shortly."

'Shortly.' A month was a blink of an eye by dragon standards, especially when one now slept for a third of a day, and then the second trimester would begin and _hopefully_ her sickness would fade. But Fordragon's frown deepened as he picked up her hand. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I find our games most agreeable," Katrana murmured, glancing over to the board.

Chess and books anchored her. She had so little time to read now, with her looming work and chronic fatigue, but every Friday without fail she played a game of chess with Fordragon as they talked about their weeks, and then curled up next to him on the chaise as they both read, disappearing into two worlds alongside one another. To her immense relief, he seemed unconcerned that the fictional… _intimacy_… had stopped, preferring to keep an arm curled around her as she read. She _had_ chosen the Highlord well, indeed. If he were a dragon he would be an ideal mate. Nothing was more annoying than a clingy, entitled partner. It was so odd. Most humans demanded attention and a relationship with a certain amount of intimacy, but Fordragon seemed happiest when they were simply silent together.

Perfect.

Of course, it helped that not using the amulet meant the voices in Fordragon's head had begun to die, much to the human's relief. _Maybe they'll go away entirely_, she heard him thinking one day.

"There's been no news of Stephen Fletcher," said Fordragon later that night. "I hope the man's alright, wherever he is."

And Katrana droned about a tragedy and how it was such a shame the court had lost an amazing politician, and hopefully he would return unharmed and not dead in an alley somewhere. Evenian, meanwhile, worked to construct a watertight background for his new identity and Katrana had yet to see it. But there was much work to do, training to be had, people to charm, records to falsify. Even Deathwing had made certain that the Prestor background had not simply sprung out of nowhere.

Before she left, that evening, he drew her into a tight hug. She allowed herself to rest her forehead on his shoulder, and felt him cheer at her response. The mortal was an odd one. Bolvar was a calm human not prone to anger, a human who wanted to soothe and comfort those around him, and to her surprise it worked on _her_, too. At that moment he held her tightly and stroked her back.

"If there's anything I can do..." he murmured into her ear again. "I worry about you, you know."

"This is enough," she responded, and found she was not lying. "You are a comfort. Thank you."

He chuckled softly. "You don't need to thank me," he said. _I only wish I could get you to relax_, his voice whispered to her. He brushed his lips against her hair, and his arms lingered before he lowered them.

It was not until Katrana walked away that she realised she had not felt any disgust at the human's touch.

Of course, it was the human brain at work. A mortal form had desires and wishes of its own, after all, and would take over one's draconic essence if she allowed it. Dragons did not need the support of mates once pregnant, but a weak mortal would. It stood to reason that a pregnant mortal would bond with the closest male that showed her romantic affection, whether she wanted it to or not. The human body was a complex machine with programming that ran far deeper than any could comprehend.

No wonder mortals fascinated Sabellian so much, Katrana thought as she sipped her ginger drink.

She was almost halfway through her growing stack of work when Nalice entered, but the other dragon barely had time to open her mouth before a second knock sounded on the door, every burst of sound pounding against the inside of Katrana's skull. Frowning, Katrana gestured Nalice to the side.

"Lady Prestor," said the man who stepped inside. He wore an unruly mop of dark hair, and an apron which clung to his front. Nalice scowled, and Katrana arched a groomed eyebrow as the stranger bowed.

His form glowed white, shifted, and morphed.

"Ah," said Katrana, as the form of Stephen Fletcher rose from his bow. Nalice stiffened. "Evenian. So your new identity is complete, then. It certainly took you long enough."

"The background is as solid as I can make it," said Evenian. "His name is Quinn Summers."

"How did you change your _scent_?" said Nalice. Evenian tilted his head and shifted back as Nalice sniffed the air. "How queer," she said.

"Nalice?" said Katrana.

"Oh, that is correct," Nalice snapped. "I forgot you are as good as blind and deaf now."

"Watch yourself."

"He can change his scent with each form he takes," said Nalice. Katrana heard a note of admiration in her voice. "My mother was capable of that. It is powerful magic."

"It is quite complicated," said Evenian. "It is similar to the magic a dragonkin utilises if they wish to change the colour of their mortal form's hair."

"Impressive," said Katrana. "And I suppose Romathis taught you to do this so that I would not detect a dragonkin within the Keep's walls?"

Evenian shuffled on the spot. Nalice narrowed her eyes. "Yes, Broodmother," he said. Then, "Everything has gone as it should. I am now a cook within the kitchens. From there I can eavesdrop on the servants quite easily and provide an ear for you."

Or for Romathis.

Katrana allowed the silence to stretch on until it became uncomfortable. "Then if you have nothing more to say, you are dismissed."

"My Lady," 'Quinn' bowed to her, and departed.

"Since when do dragonspawn know how to cook?" said Nalice.

"Omnarion and his kin were raised especially from the egg for this mission and know much about human culture," said Katrana. "I would not be surprised if Evenian had as well."

"It is concerning if that is the case," said Nalice. "Especially if he was raised with Omnarion..."

"I am not so certain where Omnarion's true allegiances lie," said Katrana. "He is not as... _slimy_ as Evenian is."

"You allow yourself to grow short sighted," said Nalice. "Suspect everyone. Suspect _everything_."

"Paranoia for the sake of paranoia could lead to rash action," said Katrana.

"_What_ rash action?" said Nalice snorted. "There is not a damn thing we can do."

"But there is," said Katrana. "What is your report?"

Nalice tensed, her scowl darkening. "I could find no records of letters from Romathis to Evenian," she said. "The guards have given up turning Fletcher's quarters upside down for clues as to his disappearance, but I found nothing when I slipped in. I even broke into the evidence rooms in the guardhouses and found no letters. I don't doubt he burned his correspondence."

"I am not quite certain," said Katrana. "Keeping the correspondence would allow him to refer back to previous orders… our memories grow flawed in human form. Continue to look for them, he could have hid them anywhere, perhaps where he sleeps as Quinn Summers."

"It is highly likely he burned them, my Lady."

"Continue to look for them regardless, he could have hid them anywhere. Find out where Quinn Summers sleeps." Finding proof of Romathis's betrayal would lead to nothing, but at least if they knew Evenian's orders, they could act on them. "I once had a potion that would allow the drinker to do anything they were ordered," said Katrana. "But when I searched for it, intending to use it on Evenian, it was missing." At Nalice's raised eyebrow, Katrana narrowed her eyes. "It was stolen, Nalice. Not _misplaced_."

"I see," said Nalice, looking away with a deep frown. "Did Evenian know the existence of this potion?"

_Shit_, thought Katrana before she could stop herself. She scowled. "He did."

"Why?"

"I do not need to explain myself to you," snapped Katrana. "Nonetheless, he did not know of its location and I would have — " … _not been able to smell him if he had come in and stolen it. _This time, she swore aloud.

"Well," said Nalice. "What a shame."

Katrana rubbed her aching temples, closing her eyes. "Nalice, we need action. We need those letters _now_. How can you not have found them in two months?"

"Simple, they no longer exist."

"I was under the impression you were here to give aid," said Katrana.

"Then it is in such a shame you allowed yourself to be manipulated into a position where you needed it," Nalice sneered. "Perhaps they are right in thinking you have allowed the human weakness to taint you."

Where was her stung pride? Where was her anger at Nalice's insolence? Nalice had always respected her before this. "And who are 'they'?"

"The rest of the Flight."

"Ah, they have been speaking to my brother dearest."

"And I see his words were not far from the truth." Nalice crossed her arms.

"I am not going to pretend I have everything under control when I do not," said Katrana. "I see no point in deluding myself or lying to those around me."

Nalice sneered. "You sound just like — "

" — your father, who had more sense than the rest of the Flight put together," Katrana snapped. "There is no strength in lying, there is no strength or honour in fighting a losing battle by oneself. I _need your help_, Nalice, and I refuse to be ashamed to admit it. Did you think I wanted you here to stand around and talk to mortals? I don't know what your true purpose is here, but I expect you to do as you are told and do your job _properly_."

"Then, pray tell, what would you wish of me?"

"To cease acting like a brainless dragonspawn and _tell me what you think can be done_," Katrana snarled.

Nalice flinched. Katrana smiled in satisfaction, which prompted a snarl from Nalice. _Katrana_ was leader, she could damn well smile whenever she wanted. "Now is not the time for complacency," said Nalice.

"I know that better than you could ever imagine," said Katrana. "I need your help, Nalice. Now give it to me. What are your true intentions here?"

Nalice pressed her lips together before she spoke. "Damage control."

"Go on."

"Serinar and I do not believe that this can be salvaged, from what Ebonaria and Romathis have informed us," said Nalice. "You are, as my father would say, between a rock and a hard place. We do not work for Romathis, do not be so mistaken as to think that. But I am here to put some measures into place so that when you fail — "

" — _If_ I should fail — "

" — Then little damage is done as possible," said Nalice. "The Flight is against you. Right now your only use is to stem the tide. Once you are done, you are gone. You have been away from the Flight for too long, among the enemy too long for them to trust you any longer, and Romathis is taking advantage of this."

"So they are afraid," Katrana crowed.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment.

"Yes," said Nalice. "They are."

"You have not told me anything I did not already suspect," said Katrana. "Tell me how you plan on doing _damage control_."

"By doing what you should have done from the beginning," said Nalice. "Befriending mortals, turning them into spies and puppets."

"And I suppose you are starting with Samantha," said Katrana. "For what good that would do."

"Never underestimate the power of a depressed mortal," said Nalice. "You should have sent someone else to do this mission."

"Your father would have done it beautifully," said Katrana.

She should have been trapped on Outland. Not him.

"Fine," said Katrana. "Keep doing what you are here to do." What else could be done? This was hopeless. Nalice would not obey her simply because Katrana told her to. Romathis had pulled control from underneath her like a rug. "But I still expect you to do as you are ordered, _is that clear_?"

"Clear as crystal," Nalice purred.

"Have you located quarters for yourself in the city yet?"

"Almost," said Nalice. "I have found a place, but I am having difficulty accessing my father's finances."

"I have it," said Katrana. "How do you think House Prestor got all its money? By _earning_ it?"

"Clever." But Nalice's smirk had dropped a notch. "Never mind, I recall Serinar had some gold for the occasional dealings he has had with the mortal world. I think I shall spend it all." She perked. "That should delight him."

"If you inform him of this fact, make sure it is by letter and that you are on the other side of the globe when you do so."

Nalice smirked. "But then I would not get the privilege of seeing his reaction!"

-o-O-o-

_Take some time off_, Bolvar had told Sam. He was no noble in blood, not used to ordering people around or holding them to responsibilities when there were more pressing concerns. _Don't worry about your pay, or Anduin, I've got that all taken care of. Just spend time with your little girl._

And so Samantha did.

The first gentle warmth of spring, reluctant and careful, snuck into the atmosphere with the coming of March and the approaching equinox. The sky seemed a little brighter, the sun a little higher. The Love is in the Air holiday passed with minimum twitching from Lady Prestor and maximum hilarity. "She's avoiding you because she's afraid you'll give her one of those awful cards," Sam ended up saying to the Highlord a week into it, when Mandy was with Horan for her daily checkup. "Or worse, one of those flying goblins."

"Really?" the Highlord perked. "I was avoiding _her_ in case she wanted one!"

"Makes you want to be sick, doesn't it?"

"Maybe I should give her one just to annoy her, but I don't think I can run fast enough."

On a warmer day, a northern breeze brought with it the scent of brimstone and charred earth from the Steppes, but Amandine wasn't there to smell it. Sam walked across the grass alone. Ahead glittered the lake, and at its side Samantha noticed a cream blur tearing across the grass. A night elven boy stumbled after it.

Stepping closer revealed the Highlord in his civilian clothes beside Anduin, who glared at the lake as he gripped a fishing rod. "I don't think the fish like me." Anduin's voice carried over to her.

Sam hesitated. She shouldn't bother them, should she?

Screw it. Sam was tired, she wanted spring sun, and she couldn't be bothered to avoid anyone today. The bright smile Anduin gave her as she approached lightened her step a little under the circumstances. "Sammy!" said Anduin. "Where's Mandy?"

"Not here today," said Sam, sitting in the grass, keeping her tone deliberately chipper. "She's not allowed outdoors anymore, she's so sensitive to infection."

It wouldn't be long until the girl wasn't allowed to leave the healing ward entirely.

"She's come quite far," said Bolvar.

What he meant, Sam was sure, was _she's come _this_ far._ "If we hadn't taken her when we did..." Sam forced her voice to be steady. It was easier than she thought. "She wouldn't be here." _She could die tomorrow. She could be gone a month from now. It's so hard to tell, sometimes she's so sick it's hard to imagine she could survive the hour, sometimes she acts as if she's only got a temperature…_" She's fighting so hard, for such a tiny baby. She has worse days, she has good days." But those good days were getting less and less…

"I'm sorry, Miss Inkweaver."

"She's still got some fight in her yet." Sam moved to stroke her daughter's hair, before she remembered she wasn't there. "My baby girl."

Bolvar frowned, leaning back on his hands as he watched Anduin and Myth rebait Anduin's hook. Jettion curled up on a pile of leaves, watching. "Have you heard from her father at all?"

Sam felt a quiet, calm chill sink into her. A serpent coiled in her chest, and all her muscles went rigid as if by its command. "No," she murmured. "I haven't talked to him since Lady Prestor removed him."

She knew what was coming. She wasn't disappointed.

"Perhaps, under the circumstances..."

Mouthing off to Nalice was one thing, mouthing off to Highlord Fordragon was another thing entirely. _You're right_, she ranted in her mind instead. _I'm sure a man who was perfectly willing for his girlfriend and daughter to die on the streets deserves to see her now, because he'll never get the chance to talk to her again and might regret it because she's fucking dead. We can't have abusers living with regret, now, can we?_

"Perhaps, under the circumstances, ex-Lord Norris Abraham can continue to hide under the rock he crawled under when I ejected him from court," said a new voice. "As I recall, Miss Inkweaver owes not a thing to him. Speaking of which, Miss Inkweaver, how are you and the little one?"

Sam's anger ebbed away.

Sam broke into a reluctant smile as she looked behind her. Jettion chirped. Lady Prestor stood in flowing garments, bundled up and warm. Sam's smile dropped a notch when she noticed Lady Prestor leaning on her staff subtly, a slight slouch in her shoulders. The woman's pale face contrasted the sharp green of the grass around them. "Alright, under the circumstances," said Sam. "She's with Brother Bronzewing, getting taken care of."

"That is fortunate." Almost as if she felt their gazes on her, Lady Prestor straightened, but her knuckles were pale as she clutched her staff. "From what I hear the child has been quite ill. Ah, hello Anduin, and Myth."

"Hello," said Anduin quietly from the shore. Myth grinned and waved, receiving a nod from Lady Prestor, but there was something reserved in the young king's expression, almost...

... fearful?

"I apologise for barely having spoken to you as of late, work has been catching up with me," said Lady Prestor.

Anduin perked up. "Oh, that's completely understandable, Lady Prestor!" he said with smoothness that Sam was sure Lady Prestor envied. "Work is, after all, a top priority. It's good to see people doing what they are paid for!"

Bolvar spluttered. Lady Prestor's lips twitched in a faint smirk. "Uncle Bolvar," said Anduin, looking to the Highlord. "We should meet Miss Perin soon."

"Oh, blast," said the Highlord, standing up. "I thought that wasn't for a while yet!"

Sam smiled faintly. "His tutor doesn't like it when he's late, as I've found out the hard way."

"I know," the Highlord grunted. He glanced to Lady Prestor with a furrowed brow. "Katrana, are you quite alright?"

"I am quite healthy," said Lady Prestor. "Merely tired, though I thank you for your concern."

"Aww," said Myth. "I wanted to play more."

"We can play after," said Anduin.

The three of them trooped back to the Keep, Crithto tearing after them like a little maniac. Jettion did not follow. The whelp uncurled himself from his position on a bed of dry leaves in a patch of sun and flew to Lady Prestor's side, trilling. Sam smiled at the sight. She'd always loved whelps.

Sam found herself on the end of Lady Prestor's scrutinising gaze. At least it wasn't as harsh and disgusted as it could have been. Once upon a time Lady Prestor walked around as if a perpetual bad smell had somehow become tattooed right underneath her nose. Now, Miss Nalice had taken over that particular behaviour.

The Highlord was doing Lady Prestor a lot of good. He'd mentioned their chess games from time to time, and it seemed that it did much to set Lady Prestor at ease. _Or maybe it's because she's finally getting laid_, Sam reflected.

To her surprise, the woman stepped closer and sank into the grass. The whelp curled up in her lap, turning a leering yellow eye on Sam. Katrana Prestor stroked him. "Odd," said Lady Prestor. "Anduin does not need to see Miss Perin for twenty minutes yet. I do not think he likes me much, that boy." She clucked.

"Perhaps they changed the time." Sam brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Doubtful, but not impossible."

Sam glanced at the whelp. "He really likes you."

"He can be quite protective of me," said Prestor. "Be careful."

"He seems happy enough right now," said Sam, reaching out a hand.

In a flash of deep purple Jettion's jaws whipped out and closed around Sam's wrist. Sam's jaw clenched in pain. "Um," she squeaked. "I'll listen to you next time."

"This is unfortunate," clucked Lady Prestor, as if it happened all the time. She grasped the whelp by the scruff of the neck and pried his jaws open. Sam brought her bleeding appendage to her chest. "Jettion, do not do that again. Miss Samantha, are you quite alright?"

"I got bitten by my mum's whelp when I was little," said Sam, her wrist screaming. "I forgot how much it hurt."

As the offending whelp fluttered away across the grass, Lady Prestor's eyebrows went up. "And you weren't afraid of it?" she said as Sam stood up.

"Nah," said Sam. "I was a weird kid, I thought it was cool I got bitten by a dragon." Her free hand clenched over her wrist, blood seeping between the fingers. "Ow. Hell, this hurts."

"What do you expect?" was Lady Prestor's immediate, unconcerned response. "Do not pat a whelp without an invitation."

A sudden wave of hot annoyance caused Samantha to snap, "An invitation? On expensive paper with detailed calligraphy? Got it." She whirled around and stormed across the grass.

_Nobles_. Honestly!

Sam clenched her jaw, willing the hot fury in her chest to fade. She'd been so _bitchy_ lately. First that stupid Miss Nalice, and now this...

Honestly, what was with Lady Prestor's family? Nalice was a nasty woman, but damn, did it feel good to bitch at her. And Fordragon! What had he been _thinking_? Allow Norris to see Amandine — _what the hell?_ He hadn't cared when they were cast onto the streets to die, what difference would Amandine's death make almost a year later than expected? She sneered.

"You are quite feisty when the situation calls for it," said a voice beside her, and Sam resisted the urge to bite off Lady Prestor's head as she walked beside her. "I would never have expected that of you, considering you laid down and allowed a certain noble to treat you badly almost a year ago."

"Screw _him_," snapped Sam. "If you're going to fire me, be done with it. Don't patronise me."

"I have seen you with Nalice every now and then within the last few weeks, since the little incident in the training square," said Lady Prestor. "She seems quite impressed by you. I think she is helping you grow a spine."

"It's that, or letting the bitch chew me out. And I'm fucking _done_ with being treated like shit."

"Nalice is used to people standing up to her," said Lady Prestor. "It is not personal."

"I like her," Sam admitted. The blood stained her torn sleeve. "She's bitchy, but I like her. It feels good to get angry at someone and not have to pay the consequences. When I bitch at her, all she does is bitch back. She doesn't make my life hell for it. She _expects_ people to be angry at her. I can't stand her, but gods help me, I like her."

"Do be careful," said Lady Prestor. "Nalice may allow you to lose your temper with her, but with anyone else — "

"I'm not _stupid_!"

She. Was. So. _Fired_.

"Fortunately," said Lady Prestor. "I am also an exception."

Was that a note of wry humour in Lady Prestor's tone? Sam glanced to her left to see a smirk on the pale woman's face. She sighed as they climbed the stone steps, cradling her left arm close. "I'm sorry, Lady Prestor. You've done a lot for me. I've been so angry lately, but there is no excuse for my behaviour."

"They say it takes great strength to control your anger," said Lady Prestor. "But for some, I believe it takes greater strength still to express it. Sometimes I fear I am growing too tame, and Nalice's arrival has only driven that home."

"But you're being nicer," said Sam, before she could stop herself. She winced at the poor choice of words. "That is... well... you are..." Oh, to hell with it, honesty was the best policy. "You were nasty as hell before. But you're growing some empathy now."

To her astonishment, Lady Prestor _laughed_. "Nalice has been rubbing off on you!"

"I am not sure this is a good thing," Sam sighed. "So she's your niece, then? I didn't know you had any siblings."

Her arm felt cold. The world took a moment to settle whenever she turned her head. She clutched her wound tighter. "I think I just dripped on the floor."

Lady Prestor seemed unconcerned. "I had a brother," she said. "A half-brother, through my mother."

"So she's not a Prestor."

"No," said Lady Prestor.

"So what would his last name be?"

Lady Prestor hesitated only a moment. "Sablemane," she said. "He was the son of House Sablemane."

"Never heard of 'em."

"My brother fought in the Second War and is currently on the wrong end of the Dark Portal. If 'is' is still the correct tense for it."

The world began to swim. Sam quickened her pace. Lady Prestor matched it without looking fazed. "Really?" said Sam, clutching at the conversation as brain fog threatened to descend. "I mean, bugger. That's pretty damn... sucky. I didn't realise nobles fought in the war. Uh, I think I've lost a lot of blood, if I trip over and die please make sure my funeral's nice and that Nalice doesn't do stupid shit, 'kay?"

"He was a spellcaster," said Lady Prestor. "A lot of magic users come from richer families."

Horan Bronzewing clucked when they entered the infirmary, and Sam fell into a chair. "I'll take care of her," he said to one of the other priests. He inspected her arm, looking unimpressed. "What happened to you?" he said, as he fished in a nearby drawer.

"I got bitten by — " just in time, Sam's hazy mind recalled what happened to pets that bit people. Why would a whelp, _especially_ a whelp, be an exception? " — a dog," she said after a pause. "A stray. I didn't see where it went."

Her wound stung as Horan dabbed it with a damp cloth. The elf gave her distinctly un-doglike wound a pointed glance, but made no other comment on the matter except for, "I'll have to give you some medicine, then, to prevent infection. If it's a stray, then Titans know what diseases it could have."

"It was nice," said Sam. Then, "Um, I'm saying stupid stuff, I need a lie down. Can I have some troll's blood? Not some _actual_ troll's blood, please, I think that would make me sick."

Lady Prestor sighed, long-sufferingly.

"Have a rest before you go out," said Horan. He waved a golden-glowing hand over Sam's wound. If Sam watched closely enough, she could see the flesh begin to knit together, painfully slowly.

"Yup," said Sam. Horan trotted over to a cupboard and brought out a blue-green vial.

"Open up," said Horan.

Sam drank it all. To her surprise, it didn't taste so bad. She could almost feel the colour returning to her face already.

"Can one use troll's blood to fight the blood sickness, I wonder?" said Lady Prestor.

Horan shook his head. "No, it makes it a lot worse," he said. "Actually, using troll's blood potions too much puts you at risk of getting the disease. The disease is caused by a disorder in blood regeneration, specifically the part of the blood that fights off illness, and troll's blood would exacerbate it."

"How is she?" said Sam softly, as Lady Prestor drew up a chair.

"She's asleep right now," said Horan. He folded his hands together. "I'm going to have to keep her a few days… but, Miss Inkweaver, I'm afraid it may be much longer than that. She's at a stage where it's becoming increasingly risky for her to leave the ward. There are a lot of diseases out there, diseases we take for granted because our bodies can fight them… but hers can't anymore. It's taking all our medicine to keep her comfortable and she's not shaking them off as well as she used to."

Sam leaned back in her chair. Her arm felt warmer already. "Yeah," she sighed. "I knew this would come soon. Do you know how much time…?"

Horan Bronzewing avoided her eyes. "Hard to say," he said off-handedly. "This will give her more time. She'll be kept in a very clean room."

"Will I be able to hold her?"

"You can see her," said Horan. "You'll… be able to hold her, at first, if you follow some instructions we give you beforehand, but after a while even that will be too dangerous."

"I don't want her to die alone," Sam said quietly. Something warm trickled down her cheek.

Finally, Horan looked up. "She won't," he said. "I will make sure of that." He stood, pressing a hand to her forehead. "You look much better already," he said in surprise. "You react very well to troll's blood. That's good. It could save your life one day."

-o-O-o-

Katrana left Samantha after ten long, silent minutes, wishing there was more to do than sit uselessly in the Keep and wait for the people around her to make their moves, wondering what Amandine would have looked like when she grew older, wondering what her mortal child could have been if not tainted by the blood of a dragon.

-o-O-o-

Nalice still didn't recover the letters. "They aren't with Quinn Summers' things, the Scalebane has destroyed them, mark my words."

"Then watch him, and wait for the letters to be delivered to him and find a way to obtain them from him."

"What sort of fool do you take me for? I have watched him for _weeks_! He has caught me more than once, his sense of smell is incredibly sharp for a mere dragonspawn! The drake doesn't even deliver to him, it's as if he _knows_. I've read Omnarion's correspondence and there is nothing suspicious there!"

As spring chased off the last dredges of winter, the sky only became a brighter, more infuriating blue than before. Flowers bloomed in the garden and loaded the air with pollen. Katrana could smell it, but only barely. For all she knew her sense of smell was on par with a mortal's. Goodness knew that mortals barely used their noses unless food was involved.

One morning there was a knock on the door. Hardly unusual; sometimes Fordragon visited her for her opinion on a letter or a document he had to draft — though, to be honest, Katrana wondered if they weren't excuses just to see her. She'd withdrawn on him, and whilst the mortal was as patient as a mountain she could tell it wounded him. "Come in."

To her surprise, a servant opened the door. Katrana raised her eyebrows. She rarely, if ever, utilised the work of the servants aside from when the maids visited to keep her room clean each day. She much preferred to do things herself. "Yes?" she said.

The servant bowed respectfully, and droned, "Lord Fordragon has sent me with summons to his study."

Huh. Typically Fordragon, having been raised with merchants, was even _more_ uncomfortable with using servants than she was. "Really?" she said.

"Mathias Shaw attends him," said the servant. "It is your turn for the Dragonbane testing, my Lady."

Katrana's blood cooled.

"Tell them I will arrive in ten minutes," she said. "Dismissed."

The servant bowed again, and disappeared.

_So_, she thought. _This is it._

Walk in there, talk about the child, walk out. Simple. So simple...

And the most difficult thing she would ever have to do.

What if it went wrong? What if they tested her anyway? What if Fordragon cast her out like Norris did to Samantha Inkweaver? She massaged her temples. Her reputation, if the news leaked out — and there was no reason it would not — was about to be ruined. She could lose her _job_...

But she would still have her humanity. She could still do things even from the bottom. There was Nalice. And she had an ally in Samantha Inkweaver, if Hora was right...

_An ally who will, one day, save something,_ she thought. Had Hora known that Nalice had taken a liking to Samantha? Had it had something to do with that?

_You can still run,_ a voice hissed in her head. _Run like a coward. Save yourself. Don't jeopardise everything. Shift, transform, shed the child... Let Romathis die like he deserves for his betrayal._

It sounded like her, but after hearing it bellow so often in Bolvar's head, she knew better. It was some _thing_, some parasite in her head taking her tone. The Taint.

_I'm not listening to you,_ she snarled at it.

Her blood ran cold when it answered, _I don't expect you to. Fool. You are nothing like your father. You are an abomination to his blood._

_Aren't you a friendly one?_

Wonderful, she was as sane as Fordragon wasn't.

There was still Hora Peddlefeet. She had to trust her. She would find a way.

_Trust a Bronze?_ said a derisive voice inside her head. That was definitely her. _She may be helping you now, but she is only working for the highest good. If she would sacrifice a baby, why do you think you're indispensable?_

The only indispensable person, so far, appeared to be Inkweaver...

"I shall deal with the consequences when they come," she spoke aloud. "Anything is better than this waiting."

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! We've pushed past 200, woo!_

**_Kai:_**_ I'll say it right now that I'm avoiding making a sue!baby as best as I can under the circumstances, so no time travelling Onyxia babies, alas, as fun as it would be to write. And thank you! I struggled a bit with Nalice. Black Dragons can be a bit difficult to write._

**_Zeitlos: _**_Heh heh heh, not a bad person at all, it's fun watching characters rock the boat for the sake of rocking the boat. I love your reviews, ramble away! :D_

**_KyreanNightblood:_**_ Got it in one! Though I didn't know it's actually been called the "blood sickness" before._

**_Seripithus:_**_ Ever since I've started writing this I've become obsessed with the Black Dragonflight. Thank you so much!_


	30. An Uncertain Future

_**A/N:** Holy errors batman! My usual edit failed to pick up a few mistakes in the last chapter, as has been kindly pointed out to me. Sorry about that, and I've fixed all I could find!_

_And EEEEEEEEK, the Deathwing raid is coming, have you heard? __I AM NOT PREPARED. I don't want to break lore or have to change my plans. Nooo._

**_A note to clear up confusion:_**_ Hora's gender is female. Onyxia knows this. Therefore, Hora will be referred to as "she" no matter what her physical form is when in Onyxia's point of view, and will be referred to by whatever physical sex she is from the point of view of anyone who doesn't know. (Sam, Bolvar.) Please hit me with a hammer if I get gender pronouns mixed up otherwise._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

* * *

"If she dies, I will kill you. I cannot abide traitors."

"I'm here for her, Nalice. Not you."

Partway to Bolvar's study, Katrana caught sight of Hora Peddlefeet and Nalice in an alcove and stopped in her tracks. "I should have you know that _anyone_ can hear you."

Nalice rounded on her and hissed, "Why didn't you tell me _it_ was here?"

Katrana glanced around the deserted corridor before she spoke. "You've been here for a while, Nalice. You cannot tell me you did not smell her or that Samantha did not tell you she was here."

"I have my ways of keeping myself undercover," said Hora.

"She won't tell me her purpose here!" said Nalice.

"Of course not," said Katrana. "Did you expect any more from a —"

"You forget, Nalice," said Hora, lowering her voice, "it is just as dangerous for a Bronze to be here as a Black. For _any_ dragonkin."

"If she dies in there, I shall make sure you do as well." Nalice clenched and unclenched her fists.

"It will be alright." Hora gestured to Katrana. "Let me accompany you."

"You look tired." Katrana's staff clicked against the stone as she walked.

"Mph." Hora trotted beside her. "I might be a Bronze, but even _we_ get tired if there's enough versions of us in the same timeline. There's four of me right now, to make it easier."

"Make _what_ easier?" said Katrana.

"Just play along," said Hora. "There's two of me in there, I replaced a priestess. She's having a day off today, I nicked a lock of her hair, so I'll have to cover that up soon. There's also me in Andorhal, but we just ignore her. I just wanted to warn you. I'll see you in ten minutes. Er, your ten minutes. Though, you'll see _me_ in another… stuff it."

The gnome vanished.

"You never know what side a Bronze is on." Nalice snorted. "She works for her own goals, do not be so foolish as to assume she will assist _us_."

"Be prepared," said Katrana. "I shall trust Hora, for now, but you must be ready."

"Ready — ?" As they rounded the corner and caught sight of the door, Adam Rivers standing to attention outside of it, Nalice snarled in annoyance. "What?"

"I have to go in." Katrana gripped her staff. "Anything else would arouse suspicion." She nodded to Omnarion as they approached. Nalice melted away from her, hissing. "Captain."

Rivers nodded to a pair of swords propped up against the wall. "I have to confiscate all weapons. Highlord's orders." His eyes drifted to Katrana's long staff. "Including staves and wands. There's already been a few people in." His hands dangled by his sides. "No exceptions."

Her staff. Her only way out if it went wrong.

"I better not regret this." Katrana shoved her staff into Rivers' hands. Rivers stepped aside, offering her an apologetic grimace and a bow.

Chairs lined the walls of the antechamber. Two doors lay ahead; one to Fordragon's study, the other to a sitting room he often used for meetings.

"Stuff's powerful." A noble sat in a velvet-covered seat, rubbing his head. "Tastes disgusting. Good luck, Lady Prestor."

"'Good luck'?" Katrana raised an eyebrow.

"It's so vile you might want to throw up," said the noble. "Here's a hint: don't. The guards will swarm you."

"Thank you for the warning." She rapped on the study door, making sure to make her impatience and annoyance known.

Shaw's voice drifted out. "Come in."

Shaw. When Stormwind was invaded, Onyxia would kill him first.

Katrana could have laughed when she stepped into Bolvar's enormous study to see the figures that bordered the walls. "The Suicide Squad?" Oh, the _irony_.

"Just in case someone ends up being dragonspawn, or worse, a dragon, and the potion isn't enough to kill them," said Bolvar. Beside him, hands folded behind himself, stood Mathias Shaw. Two pairs of rogues watched from the windows behind Bolvar's desk.

"Doubtful," said Shaw. "It is potent. Good morning, Lady Prestor."

In front of them stood Horan Bronzewing, a chest in her arms. Beside her hovered a human priestess with golden hair… no doubt this was _also_ Hora. The priestess stared forward with a vacant expression, but the priest gave Katrana a quiet nod. Both versions of the Bronze avoided eye contact with each other.

Seeing oneself in another body must be odd. Katrana gave them two hard stares.

_This better go as it should, or you're dead after Shaw._

"Brother Bronzewing," said Shaw, "let us proceed."

Brother. It was like a delightful little secret, hearing Hora referred to as male by others. They didn't know who she _really_ was.

The high elf's fingers fumbled with the catch of the chest. The priestess glanced at Katrana with her brows knitted together, tangling her fingers together. "Brother…" the priestess murmured.

Katrana had to say something, but when her eyes fixed on the vial Bronzewing brought from the chest her dry lips would not open.

"So," said Bronzewing. The green liquid swirled inside the vial that Bronzewing held between delicate fingertips. The bane of every dragon. Some said it was poison the Old Gods made to kill the draconic guardians of the planet they coveted. "What we do is just make you drink up, stare at you for a bit to double check that you're incapable of breathing fire, and then you just go. Easy come, easy go. If dragonkin drank this, there'd be an instant reaction..." Horan bit her lip. "They tested this on blackwhelps the Brotherhood of Cinders acquired for them."

Katrana's insides went cold. "Jettion?"

"They didn't use Jettion," said Bolvar. "No, these were whelps captured from the Steppes."

Her fingers curled into fists. Her _children_, used as —

"And dragonspawn," said Mathias. "It's just as effective on dragonspawn. So, Lady Prestor, if you are dragonspawn, rest assured your death will be quick, if agonising." The corner of his lip quirked in play.

Katrana focused a steely glare on him. "That is _barbaric_."

"Anything for Stormwind," said Mathias.

The words echoed in her ears.

_Anything for the Black Dragonflight._

"Lady Prestor." Horan held out the vial.

Katrana took it. The green, clear liquid inside stirred as she did so.

"Best to drink it quickly," said Horan. "It tastes horrid, from what I hear."

"Brother!" the priestess whimpered. "I don't — maybe — "

Horan glared at her other self and shook her head. Up crawled one of Shaw's eyebrows.

Katrana fixed her darkest glare on the Bronze. She stepped back, holding the vial. Now or never. "Master Shaw, first — "

"I'm sorry!" The priestess blurted. "I'm so — Brother, we can't just stand by and let this happen, we have no idea what effect it'll have!"

Shaw and Bolvar blinked as one. Bronzewing scowled. The priestess twisted her hands together, her worried eyes fixed on Katrana. "I'm sorry, Lady Prestor," she said. "I — _please_ let me tell them — if it _dies_ — "

Katrana frowned in puzzlement, but inside her relief crashed upon itself like waves. "Sister, what…?"

"Sister Sutton." Bronzewing's fists clenched. "You have _no_ business — "

"I don't see any other way!" The priestess's voice was high pitched in hysteria. "Master Shaw, she's — "

"_Sutton!_" Bronzewing's eyes narrowed. "It is _illegal_ to divulge medical information without her consent!"

"_You_ should know better!"

"But — "

"Bronzewing, a life is at stake, we can't keep _quiet!_"

"What is going on?" Shaw's hard eyes darted between the Bronzes. Both looked pleadingly at Katrana.

Katrana sighed. "Sister… Sutton, you have my permission, then."

'Sutton' snatched the vial from her, and Katrana kept her face a neutral mask. Her hand shook; she folded it with its mate behind her back.

"What is the meaning of this?" snarled Shaw, touching his sword. Sutton blanched. "All nobles of the highest tier are to be tested, no exceptions — "

"I should discuss Lady Prestor's medical history before we proceed any further." Horan lowered her eyes, and the priestess's head bobbed up and down in a nod. "Please, Master Shaw."

"I think that's civil enough." Bolvar looked unconcerned. "The healers know what they're doing better than we do."

"I need the guards dismissed," said Horan. Bolvar frowned.

Shaw scowled. "I do not see why — "

Katrana rounded on them. "As far as I am concerned, I am being forced to reveal this information against my will." Medical information? Katrana had little doubt as to what 'Sutton' and Horan planned to say. "I will _not_ do so in front of a room of no less than a dozen other people who do not need to know!" She glared at the Suicide Squad, and the four rogues by the windows. "Or I will refuse the testing, which will only have the entire nobility pointing fingers at me and crying for me to be burnt at stake, or whatever you do with the dragonspawn you catch."

Fordragon turned to Shaw. "Lady Prestor is no threat."

"Nor would you believe that of any of the other nobles," said Shaw. "That is why the testing is _happening_!"

"It is illegal for me to divulge medical information to anyone without her permission," said Horan. "We are at an impasse, then."

Silence ensued.

The Highlord gestured at the suicide Squad. "Dismissed. And Shaw, get rid of your rogues. That's an order."

Shaw's mouth barely moved. "Go."

They obeyed. The Suicide Squad drifted away from the rogues as if repelled, their shoulders tight and hunched, arms crossed, hands curled into fists, casting one another uneasy glances. More than one looked back to the chest on Bolvar's desk.

"Sutton, Bronzewing," said Shaw, looking to Horan. "What is it you have to say?"

The large windows behind Bolvar's desk afforded a view of the grounds. "Tell them, then." Katrana's loose fists rested on the white windowsill, the sun warming her skin. Above loomed the mountains that separated Elwynn from the Steppes.

_Home_.

Orion had died there.

"Spit it out, then," said Shaw.

"It happened in January, sir," said the priestess. "One winter's night Lady Prestor came to us because she needed medical attention."

"Medical attention?" said Shaw.

"She had been out for a walk when she could not sleep, Master Shaw," said Horan. "She had been... assaulted, sir."

Sutton wrung her hands. "If you understand what we..."

Katrana had not even been aware of Bolvar's thoughts buzzing in the background of her mind until they stopped dead in horror.

"Assaulted?" said Bolvar.

So Horan wanted the rape story, a way to protect her from both the Dragonbane and from the social consequences. Today Katrana Prestor did what many rape survivors were wrongfully accused of doing — lying.

… Since when did she care about discrediting mortals? Since when did she feel _guilt?_

Her next step would have to be made carefully. If Fordragon did not reject her, she could stick to the story. If he did, she would change it accordingly and swear him to secrecy. Fordragon still had the false memories, after all.

Unless he figured it out himself.

"Yes, Your Lordship," said Sutton. "We patched her up, treated her, and made sure... well, I treated her for potential diseases and sent her on her way, and kept a close eye on her afterwards. Horan — that is, Brother Bronzewing helped."

When could she leave? Katrana's nails tapped against the windowsill as she glared down at the grounds. The grass stirred in a faint spring breeze but no entertainment, no distraction lay in front of her.

"She started getting sick not long after," said Bronzewing.

"Sick?" said Shaw.

Bronze or not, no words could describe the sheer feeling of Katrana's gratitude that it wasn't _her_ explaining this. Let the Bronze do all the talking. She was sick of responsibility.

_Coward_, snarled the Taint.

"Yes," said Horan. "The encounter left her... that is to say, she showed symptoms of a… certain condition…"

"What he means is, she got knocked up."

"_Sister Sutton!_ Some sensitivity would be appreciated!"

Dead silence, for a long moment.

"I understand" said Shaw at last. "However..."

"Remember," said Horan, raising her male voice into a stubborn tone. "You are legally obligated not to speak of — "

"I know my law, Bronzewing," Shaw snarled. "However the testing must continue — "

"What?" said Sutton.

"For all we know, the mixture could harm the child!" said Horan. "As healer I _forbid_ it."

Shaw leaned on his knuckles, the desk creaking under his weight as he glared at Horan. "You have no power over — "

"That is enough," came Bolvar's quiet voice.

_You're in trouble now_, said the Taint. But Bolvar's thoughts betrayed nothing else, as if she had gone deaf telepathically.

For lack of a staff to hold onto she turned and clenched the windowsill. Who knew she was so dependent on it? As if it were some kind of pathetic comfort object. "Am I needed any longer?"

"I don't see why — " said Horan.

"The testing must continue," said Shaw. "There is no way we can risk — "

"For the love of the _Titans_, isn't it obvious she's not dragonkin?"

"For all we know dragonspawn are capable of — "

"Of what? Getting impregnated by humans?"

"Next thing you know there are half-dragons everywhere!" Sutton threw her hands into the air. "Oh, wait, have you met any? 'Cause I haven't. I wonder where they're all hiding?"

"You're out of line — "

"You are _all_ out of line," Fordragon snapped. "Lady Prestor, you are dismissed. For the sake of maintaining the peace, pretend you've undergone the testing. Brother, who's next?"

"Lord Quell, sir," said Horan.

-o-O-o-

"See," said the gnome when Katrana left the study and snatched her staff from Adam Rivers. "I told you it would be alright."

Katrana eyed the blonde gnome that walked beside her. "You have my gratitude. Have you ever considered acting? I do have to comment you could not get Sutton's character consistent, but I have no doubts that if the situation was not so dire I would have been amused."

"I practiced that _so many times_," said Hora. She giggled. "It was a blast. I practiced in real-time, and when I confused the hell out of them I just travelled back and redid it. I think you punched me in one of those baby timelines…"

Katrana sighed. "Anything else I should be warned of?"

"No, my Lady."

Katrana frowned. "I do not suppose you happen to know what happened to a certain drug I brewed...?"

She had a Scalebane to question.

"You'll get it back," said Hora. "But not until the time is right."

"I need it _now_."

"Yes," said Hora. "But you don't _want_ it now. You really, really don't. When the time is right, you'll get it back. Haven't I already proven myself trustworthy?"

"For now," murmured Katrana.

-o-O-o-

Katrana shut the study door behind her, and resisted the urge to slide down it into a puddle of relief. It was _done_. Even if the Dragonbane hadn't immediately killed her, her body would have rejected it and a bloodbath would have resulted. The Suicide Squad would not have turned on her. Fordragon and Shaw would have been their first targets. Shaw first, he was most dangerous, then Fordragon…

_Don't want him to die_, she heard Onyxia say in Fordragon's mind back in his study.

But her _children_…

For a long moment she stood with her head bowed in mourning. No call would be sung for the whelps who had been sacrificed, no sound roared in their memory. Just like Orion, the whelps died with only silence to mark their passing.

She took a deep breath. Now was not the time to dwell on it.

Instead, she tackled the stack of paperwork on her desk. She had time to draft some laws and slip in loopholes to use to her advantage, but to her consternation focus eluded her. Unsatisfied with claiming her eyesight, sense of smell and hearing, the mortal child within also drew a shroud over her once-clear mind.

For hours, she struggled through her work. Once a machine of efficiency, it felt as if every other sentence gave her pause as her groggy mind groped through its haze for the right words. Snarling, she picked up her inkwell and eyed the scorch mark on her door. It would make a perfect target —

But a knock interrupted her. She lowered the inkwell.

A draught blew under the door, and for the millionth time she wished she could smell what it carried. Still, only one person would want to talk to her right now…

She snatched her coin purse from one of the desk drawers. She tore her cloak from its hook and swung it onto her thin shoulders. Nalice had secured her house a few days ago and Katrana had yet to see it. A golden opportunity to explore a place where no mortal knew to find her. She could have smiled.

How inconvenient it was the Highlord happened to catch her right _now_, hmm? Such a shame, she would not be available for the rest of the day!

She opened the door, dodging a knuckle meant for the wood. "Highlord!" she said with a flourishing bow to his alarmed and apologetic look. Damn it, human females _curtseyed_, how could she forget? Curse that child within her! "Forgive me, I did not hear you knock. If you may allow me to comment, you have terrible timing, because — "

"Lady Prestor." Bolvar's concerned, green eyes alighted on her. "May I have a word?"

_Go away_, said Onyxia. _Leave me alone._

Katrana scowled. "I — "

_I'm afraid_, said Onyxia.

"I — that is — " What had she just _said_? No dragon knew _fear_! "— I was about to visit my niece, perhaps you recall her?" said Katrana. "Of course, I would have stated this if you had not interrupted me, but it is no matter, we are all stressed today. In any case, she reminds me of myself, I was not aware I was so _unbearable_ back — "

"Did you just _stutter_?" Bolvar's eyes hardened. "You are babbling, too. It's cute, but in all seriousness, we need to talk, surely your niece can wait ten minutes?"

"Nalice despises tardiness as much as I do," said Katrana. "I promised her I would meet her for lunch today — "

Bolvar's sceptical eyebrow-raise silenced her. "Then she's going to be quite annoyed, seeing as how you're _three hours late_."

"Nalice eats late." Katrana stepped past him.

"Like _hell_ she does — Lady Prestor!"

_I don't want to talk to you!_ said Onyxia as Katrana strode down the hallway, pretending not to hear. With the condition her senses were, she was as good as blind and deaf anyway.

_Get back here_, said Bolvar. _You coward_.

Katrana almost stopped in her tracks. Almost.

_I want to hide_, said Onyxia. _From you._

She was no _coward_. She plunged back into the hallway, willing Onyxia to silence herself. She wasn't _hiding_, she was about to visit her niece! Since when was that cowardice?

_What happens now?_

-o-O-o-

Much to Katrana's displeasure, even with her nose as bad as it was, the Dwarven District still reeked of coal and burning. Once upon a time the smell reminded her of the marshes and Blackrock Spire, but now bile rose in her throat and she struggled not to be sick.

Katrana strode away with her black cloak swirling around her ankles, a hand pressed to her abdomen. Was it her, or had it grown? First pregnancies took a while to show, it could be her imagination…

When it did show, not even the loosest of clothing would hide it.

But the cat was out of the bag, so to speak, if not yet out of the womb. Katrana did not dare touch Bolvar's consciousness. He had guessed, hadn't he? He wouldn't have looked so stern, so frustrated, if he hadn't...

Samantha Inkweaver would be trustworthy, if Horan had spoken the truth. She was a mother. She understood what it was like to be ostracised because of it. If Evenian was wrong and Bolvar turned on her, then she had an ally in Samantha. Samantha would not watch another mother go down the path she had been forced if she could help it.

After a long walk she turned into Old Town, the neighbourhood known for housing the headquarters of the loathsome Brotherhood of Cinders. The same guild that had kidnapped dragonspawn, that had sacrificed her _children_ to the Dragonbane testing...

She paused outside their doors, gritting her jaw. If she set it aflame with dragonfire the ceiling would cave in, the nails that held the walls together would melt, and the searing inferno would be felt streets away. It would be the least Katrana could do to take their lives in return for her children's. How _tempting_...

The hair stood up on the back of her neck. Katrana turned around to see a dwarven huntress brush past her, eyes lowered upon their electric contact, a long red braid down her back. She was some pet of Leo's, and... hadn't Katrana seen her about the palace the last few months?

But not Leo. Katrana frowned. Where had _he_ been?

Capturing her _children_, most likely! She snarled, continuing on her way.

She found the address Nalice had given her soon enough, but she needn't have bothered to knock. "No, Nalice, I'll come after the infirmary closes next time, I have to be with — " The door opened and two brown eyes blinked at her, before they lit up with joy. "Lady Prestor! Fancy seeing you, I just finished having tea with Nalice."

"Tea with _Nalice_?" Katrana rose an eyebrow. "Nalice does not strike me as the kind to enjoy tea parties..."

"We shared conversation over a hot beverage." Nalice appeared behind Samantha, her usual frown on her features. Samantha's smile faded, schooled into a more apathetic expression. It reminded Katrana of the Suicide Squad when confronted by a dragon and the bitter reminder that real dragonkin did not show emotion. "She must attend to her young one, however. Do come in, Katrana."

But Katrana hesitated, glancing at Samantha. "How is the little one?"

"She's alright," said Samantha. "Still in the infirmary. I was with her all this morning. She's having more good days than bad, so being in there all the time is showing some improvement in her..."

"Please know, Samantha, that if you ever have any need of me even in the middle of the night, call upon me and I will offer my assistance." Katrana nodded to her.

Samantha blinked away tears. "Thank you, Lady Prestor."

Katrana tilted her head. "I think under the circumstances you can address me as Katrana."

Samantha's smile grew a little more real. "Then call me Sam," she said. "I hate Samantha. Well, you have a good afternoon."

"And you."

When Sam was finally gone and Nalice had herded Katrana into her home, Nalice snorted. "I feared she would never leave! 'Tis inconvenient she would wish to come during the night, if at all. As if being at her child's bedside all day would make her die slower!"

"Just how long have you two been conspiring?" Katrana turned to regard Nalice.

"We do not _conspire._" Nalice gestured to the single wooden table, surrounded by rickety chairs, in the centre of the room before she waited for Onyxia to seat herself. "I am reaching out to a fellow mother and schooling her on the fine art of not giving a damn."

One leg of Onyxia's chair seemed shorter than the others, making it rock underneath her until she found her balance. "I see." She looked around the room, bare but for a few sparse pieces of furniture. Perhaps it was a dragon thing? Hora's quarters had been just as bare, and Katrana had never had a thing for decoration herself, though her book collection had been steadily growing since Winter's Veil. "And why would this be?"

"When the child carks it she will be a weak mess unless she has taught herself not to care." Nalice's gaze flitted about the room in boredom. "I informed her that children die all the time and she should get used to it, the fool."

"And she _lets_ you?" Sam _must_ be desperate for companionship.

"No," said Nalice, and Onyxia fought a smirk. "But I think she depends on it. She is odd, unlike other humans she seeks inner tranquility and peace from the turmoil she inflicts upon herself."

"Inflicts upon herself?" Onyxia sucked in her breath. "Her daughter is _dying_."

"But she can choose how to respond to it, no?" Up went Nalice's eyebrows.

_No, of course not, you fool!_ But Onyxia bit back her reply. "She is human, Nalice. Humans mourn their children."

"And? Look how weak their society is. Their society has failed her, has it not?" Nalice propped her elbows on her table, cradling her face in her hands. "She is different from the other mortals. They ostracise her, they treat her with cruelty. She has had to bear too many snide comments, but because of human society frowning upon the defence of oneself she does not fight back. I am here to give her that strength, to train her to do so, to take her strength and do what she will with it."

"And?" said Katrana. She had the feeling something else was coming.

"The girl would make a good spy, too," said Nalice. "Once the child is dead she will need purpose, or she will succumb to depression. Which would be a waste of training."

"Training." Onyxia stared at her. "You are not interested in merely making her a spy, are you?"

Nalice cocked her head, and said nothing.

"You wish to make her a... Nalice. It has been thousands of years since the Flight needed the wyrmcults!"

"But the time has come," said Nalice. "We teeter on the edge of extinction, and civil war is on the horizon whenever Romathis deigns to make his next move, and inaction only postpones it. In the Wyrmcults of old, we gathered the wallflowers, the ostracised, the outliers of society who had been let down by their own people. With us, they sought a home. Samantha is the beginning of a new dawn within the Black Dragonflight."

"You make it sound as if the dragonspawn are everything." Onyxia rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

"But when we fight among ourselves, it is always the dragonspawn that die first," said Nalice. "And I am not ashamed to admit that we depend upon them."

"You are more like your father than you think."

Nalice glared at her, before she continued as if Onyxia had not said anything. "Most of Romathis's dragonspawn have been transformed into the Chromatic Flight, and if he should turn on you, your dragonspawn would not survive, which would leave us with less than a hundred Black Dragonspawn scattered around the Eastern Kingdoms. We will need to dip into the mortal reserve. Samantha _will_ be made into a Dragonsworn, if she is strong enough. If she is not, we will restart the Wyrmcults another way."

"So." Onyxia leaned back in her chair. It teetered underneath her. "You are carrying on your father's role, then."

"And my mother's." Nalice lifted her chin. "My mother trained the Wyrmcults even before you and Sabellian were born. They passed on their knowledge to me at Sabellian's behest they crossed the Dark Portal. He knew that one day, it may be needed."

"As I recall, you scoffed."

"Perhaps Sabellian was not a complete fool." Nalice scowled. "We cannot outlast Romathis forever, whatever he is doing. Samantha will assist us, especially once her child is dead and there is nothing left for her."

_Whether I had the child kidnapped, taken away, disappeared; it would only tear Samantha away from her duty, from what she had to do. And as a result, all was lost..._

Hora's words caused a shiver to echo down Onyxia's spine.

"I have the feeling," said Onyxia, "that Inkweaver will help us whether she wants to or not."

-o-O-o-

Sam wasn't sure why Nalice had adopted her, but having someone to bitch at made her feel _so_ much better. And yet, it scared her. She'd never had anger until she met Nalice, and now that the other woman had forced her confront it, she saw how bottomless it could be. She snapped at Kair, she slammed doors, she'd back-chatted people she shouldn't back-chat, and it showed no signs of receding. Like a beast it slept on, never truly leaving her.

"Miss Samantha?" A voice interrupted her thoughts.

At the mouth of the street stood a dwarven woman. Her red hair hung in a long braid down her back, her face worn with lines as she held a gun in her hands. Her tabard bore the black and red of the Brotherhood of Cinders. When Sam cast the gun a fearful glance, the hunter slung it across her back. "Sorry," she said. "I wasn't going to shoot you, I sometimes forget civillians aren't used to people carrying that stuff in plain sight."

"I'm not exactly a civillian," said Sam. Then, "Well, I'm no mercenary either. But I've had combat training."

"That makes things even better," said the dwarf. She bowed. "I'm Lana Stoutwell from the Brotherhood of Cinders. Are you Samantha Withering?"

"Um." Odd. "No, I'm Samantha Inkweaver."

The dwarf frowned. "I suppose that makes sense. I expect you'd take your mother's name, not your father's."

"I never knew my fath..." Oh, she _had_ to be joking. "Please tell me I'm not Leo Withering's bastard kid."

"You're not Leo Withering's bastard kid," the hunter quipped. "Clarisse told me."

"Oh, thank the — "

"You're his half sister."

Sam opened her mouth. She closed it. She tried again. "I need to see my daught — wait, _sister_?"

"We've got a lot to talk about," said Lana. "Follow me, and I'll explain everything."

"Are you sure I'm his _sister_?" said Sam. "He's old enough to be my father!"

Lana chuckled as Sam walked up beside her. "You didn't sound happy about that."

"I thought my father was dead?" said Sam.

"He is now." Lana's chuckle faded with her smile as they mounted the steps in front of the guild hall. "We watched it happen. Come with me, please."

She had to see Mandy...

But he father? _Really_? Who was he?

... Had Leo known all this time? "This has come out of fucking nowhere."

Lana didn't even flinch at the profanity as she pushed open one of the heavy oak doors to the guild hall. Sam's heart fluttered in fear.

_No need_, she told herself. _Norris is gone. Long gone._

"I expect it has," said Lana. "I only found out this morning myself. Leo doesn't even know yet, but we've been out of contact ever since Winter's Veil so he won't find out until he returns..." She bit her lip. "If he returns."

"Where is he?" said Sam. No doubt Lady Prestor would be interested to know, she'd always loathed Leo...

Lana gave her a condescending smile. "He's busy."

They stepped into the main hall. The floorboards shone with only the occasional scuffings and bloodstains. Plush green armchairs huddled by the fire, a patterned rug stretching between them. Shelves lined the walls, filled with plundered knick-knacks, weapons and statuettes. Sam could count the books she saw on one hand.

A wolf lolled by the fire, a great big shaggy thing with orange firelight reflected on the mass of its grey hair. A night elf slouched on a chair beside it. She raised a single eyebrow at their approach. "Clarisse's in the bathroom."

Lana nodded, and glanced to Sam. "Take a seat. Tea?"

"I..." Oh, hell, why not? "Yes, please."

Lana's patronising smile reappeared, before the dwarf left the room. The night elf openly stared at Sam as she sat.

"You remind me of another night elf I know." Sam met those golden eyes. "He's pretty socially oblivious too."

The night elf looked away with a scowl.

At that moment she heard a gasp from a doorway. Sam looked up, half expecting to see Norris skulking around the people who'd kicked him out ages ago, but instead she saw a redheaded woman with a broad grin across her face, with a blonde standing beside her. The redhead's leather clothing made no sound as she strode across the floor. "Sammy!" she said, arms open wide. The mage behind her smirked. The rogue wrapped her arms tightly around Sam. "Good to see you!"

"Um," said Sam. "Hi."

Clarisse. She hadn't seen her _forever, _not since Sam was a street rat. They'd been friends when Sam's mother was still alive but after that they'd drifted apart, and aside from seeing glimpses of the older rogue every now and then, Sam hadn't talked to her in over ten years. Every rogue on the street knew each other by sight if not by name, but that didn't mean they were one big happy family. "Uh, how are you?"

"Could be better, could be better." Clarisse sniffed. Sam resisted the urge to roll her eyes and pried Clarisse's arms from around her. Clarisse threw herself into an armchair beside Sam. The night elf who still gazed into the fire smiled.

"You're in the Brotherhood now?" said Sam.

"I'm in the process of getting in, yes, yes," said Clarisse. "Unfortunately Jensen's lazy as hell with paperwork." She gestured to the mage by the door, who huffed. "Simply lazy. Lana's sweet enough, and so's Little Miss Uptight over there." She smirked at the night elf.

"I'm sure insulting them will earn you plenty of friends." Sam gave her a smile. Was it any wonder the process took a while for Clarisse?

"Bah, it's all in good fun!" said Clarisse. "Good fun! I came to talk to Jensen today, actually. Well, I meant to speak to Withering, but he's _still_ not back, as it turns out, still not back... I've been wanting to get in touch with him for months. _Months_."

"And she's only _now_ spilt the damn beans as to why she wanted to." The night elf didn't look at them even as she spoke, her chin lifted with a regal air. "Useless, considering that if she'd told us why up-front, we could have told her what happened."

"About what?" said Sam. "Has this got something to do with why I'm here now?"

"No decent girl who's grown up on the streets tells her business just 'cause she's asked," said Clarisse. "Not if she's _decent_."

_So decent girls don't tell their business, then?_ Sam bit back her sarcasm. _Are you sure?_

"Here we go." Lana Stoutwell reappeared, lowering a tray to the coffee table and distributing tea. Clarisse snatched hers, and Tarani Jensen took a delicate china cup before she withdrew, watching in silence. "Clarisse, you said you knew Sam?" But it was Sam that Lana looked at as she spoke.

_Samantha_. She loathed the name. But hearing these strangers call her _Sam_ stirred uneasiness within her. "Yes," said Sam. "She was years older than me..." what was Clarisse now? Twenty five? Something like that. "But she used to look after me sometimes when I was small."

"Yeah," said Clarisse. "Then Samara died. Pity. She was nice. Quite nice."

"So she's nice?" quipped the night elf. Jensen snickered.

"But what has this got to do with my _father_?" Sam blurted out.

Leo. Her _half sibling_.

"Well." On her armchair Clarisse curled her legs underneath her, boots and all, which triggered a glower from Jensen. "I've worked with Rudolphus Withering a while."

She'd heard of him. That infamous rogue _everyone_ bowed to, that even Stormwind Intelligence revered. Sam had met him once or twice...

Shit, they were _related_?

"Leo was never happy about it," said Clarisse. "Said I was too young for him. Which is bullshit, true love knows no bounds! ... Just kidding, I slept with him for the prestige. He's old, so what? He could still get it up!"

"What were you saying about decent girls?" said the night elf.

"Anyway," said Clarisse, "he disappeared on Winter's Veil. Went on an assignment, never came back. I kept trying to get in contact with his kidlet, Leo, but he's been gone and I wasn't about to tell the guild anything. Kept trying, though."

"She only told us this morning," the night elf drawled. "After _months_ of nagging us about Leo."

"Yeah." Clarisse slurped at her steaming tea. "Turns out they watched him die, some dragonspawn got 'im. That sucks."

"Hey!" Lana's eyebrows drew together in a knot. "Keep your mouth shut, some of this is pretty important so keep quiet unless you want to get us all in trouble."

"He was really good with his tongue." Clarisse glared over the edge of her teacup.

"_Gods_," said Jensen.

"Dragonspawn?" said Sam. "There are dragonspawn in the city?"

"Yeah, well," said Clarisse. "Turns out Leo went marching off to do something or other, they won't tell me. But anyway, I gave up and asked if his other kidlet had any info and they were pretty surprised to learn he _had_ one. Your ma never told you?" Her eyes swivelled to Sam.

"Um," said Sam. "_No_."

Rudolphus _Withering_ was her father?

_You have got to be fucking kidding! _Hadn't the world done _enough_ fucking damage?

"Anyway," said Clarisse. "I got pretty concerned when he never came back, now here we are. Turns out he got set on fire and shit. What a way to go, eh? What a way!"

"Clarisse had interesting information on your family." Lana rested her fists on her knees. "Apparently... er... Samara Inkweaver had a fling with Rudolphus."

"That ain't unusual," said Clarisse. "S'not unusual at all. He slept around more than a whore and didn't even have the dignity to ask for money. Seriously, imagine how much he could've made as a manwhore, he was damn good with his hands... mmm."

Someone made a strangled noise in their throat. Sam wasn't sure if it was her, Lana or Jensen. "So," said Sam quietly. "Where _is_ Leo?"

"Getting to the bottom of it," said Lana.

"He's in the Steppes?" said Sam. Nobody answered. "And what's all this about dragonspawn in the city?"

"Here's the thing," said Lana. "We could use a little help. You're close to Katrana Prestor, aren't you? You're the nanny of the prince."

Oh.

So _this_ was what they wanted.

"What has Katrana Prestor got to do with this?" Sam went rigid in her chair.

"This is not the place to sling accusations," said Lana. "But we have reason to believe that the dragonspawn may... target her."

_Bullshit_, Sam longed say. _You think she's dragonspawn, don't you? _"You want me to spy on her."

"We merely want someone to keep an eye on her, just in case something happens to her." Lana smoothed the fabric of her pants.

"She tried to beat a dragonspawn to death with her staff," said Sam. "She doesn't need looking after."

"Better safe than sorry," said Lana. "There is only so much I can do when I'm not part of the nobility, only so many places in the Keep open to mercenaries. Without Leo here, who's a personal friend of the Highlord, we can't go everywhere."

"We're particularly interested in a visitor of hers," said the night elf. "There's a woman whose name is Nalice. As I understand it you know her."

Something piqued in Sam's memory. "You were there when she fought me, weren't you, Lana?"

"Indeed I was," said Lana.

Several pairs of eyes fixed themselves on Sam. She stared down at her murky tea, meeting the eyes of her reflection.

Katrana couldn't be _dragonspawn_!

"Why did the dragonspawn kill Rudolphus?" said Sam. He wasn't "_Father_." Not to her.

The night elf snorted. "Because it's a dragonspawn," said the night elf. "It's what dragonspawn _do_."

Katrana didn't, neither did Nalice.

"They wanted to chase Leo out of Stormwind," said Lana. "They... well. We thought they'd overrun us when he left, but they never came. And now we can't get in contact with him to tell him it's safe for him to come back. They saw him as a threat."

If that was true, why chase him straight to the Steppes?

_Because they can hurt him there_, said a voice in Sam's head. _They could kill him and he'll just be 'missing,' and there'll be none of the proof for his death. And you always need proof to get Lady Prestor to do anything..._

Had Katrana made him disappear?

But she couldn't have! Katrana was _nice_. She'd helped Sam when nobody else did, even when her own damn brother and _father_ didn't extend a hand to help her. No dragonspawn would do that, surely! True, both Katrana and Nalice liked their dragons, but...

No. Not possible. Katrana and Nalice were related and there was no way a dragonspawn could have been in Stormwind so long, and if Katrana had been killed and replaced, somebody would have noticed by now.

Sam looked up to see the Brothers gazing at her with hope.

"I suppose you think I want to avenge my... _father's_ death," said Sam.

"Leo does," said Lana, a note of accusation in her voice. What, Sam wasn't a good enough daughter? Now _that_ was a laugh! "And he could use his sister's help."

"Isn't it a shame his father never did anything for me when I needed him most?" Sam scowled. She looked at Clarisse. "And you'd know more than them. Did you tell them I was on the streets as a child? That Rudolphus Withering knew this? That I was eventually taken in by _whores_?" Her voice shook with anger. "That I wound up on the streets _again_ when I was pregnant with Amandine and he knew about _that_? That while he lived on hundreds of gold for his prestigious contracts I barely knew where my next meal was coming from?"

"The dragonspawn are a serious threat to Stormwind." Lana's eyes hardened. "Rudolphus aside, many others may have died and we never knew about it."

"A threat?" said Sam. "_Why_? Just because one sorry asshole died?" Her jaw clenched, and it was all she could do not to snarl. "Katrana Prestor saved my _life_. Which is more than Rudolphus Withering ever did for me." Her voice rose. "Even his son hesitated to kick my abusive ex out of his guild, and you only want anything to do with me because I'm useful to you._ I'm not garbage to toss aside!_"

"Alright." Lana stood, her nostrils flaring. "You've made your allegiance clear."

"Now, now," said the night elf, her tone soothing. "'Tis only natural there is much bitterness, there is much the elder Withering did not do for his daughter."

"Life sucks and then you die." Clarisse drained her teacup. "Don't worry, kidlet number two, Leo didn't like 'im much either. I'm gonna miss 'im, though."

"There are lives at stake." Like Lana, Tarani Jensen reminded Sam of a strict schoolteacher. "All of us should do our bit to help."

"I'm not interested," said Sam flatly. "Thank you for the tea, but I will be gone now. I have a sick daughter to visit. You know, the granddaughter he never gave a damn about either?"

Lana snarled, but Jensen gripped her shoulder tightly as Sam spun on a heel and departed.

"Katrana Prestor," she muttered as she stomped down the steps. "You better be fucking worth it."

She stopped and gazed down the street. Beyond lay Nalice's front door. She considered going in and demanding to know what was going on.

She'd do what Lana said, but she'd report her findings to nobody. She was going to find out for her damned self before she made her own decisions, rather than allow the whole "Dragons are evil" spiel to be spoon fed to her. If Nalice and Katrana were dragonspawn, then they were better than any damn human Sam had ever met.

For now, she remembered with a pang of guilt, she had a sick little girl to visit.

* * *

_**A/N:** Thanks to all who reviewed!_

**_Ariaelyne:_**_ That's the fun of writing a Bronze, everyone scrutinises every last thing she says! Buahaha._

**_123'123:_**_ My beta is back and had a look over this chapter for me, and I made sure to fix the last chapter before this one went up._

**_JustMe:_**_ I'm always up for warnings whenever I'm about to ruin a good thing! Really, really don't want that to happen..._

**_Zeitlos:_**_ Enjoy, and thank you!_


	31. Draconic Influence

_**A/N:** WHAT IS THIS MADNESS. An early update for you!_

_My buffer is going well. I'm currently at the first draft of chapter thirty-eight, which isn't far from the end of part one. (Yes. Part one. Jesus.)_

_As always, thank you to **Coincidencless** for their beta work and for catching those really embarrassing errors._

* * *

**Chapter Thirty**

* * *

Since when was _Katrana Prestor_ a coward? For all she preached about "strength" and courage, how could she _do_ this? Fel, she always _had_ been a coward. Shrinking away from him, refusing to face her own damn emotions. For fel's sake, everyone had emotions, couldn't she learn to handle them? He always walked on eggshells around her to avoid startling her, afraid that if he breathed too loudly she'd hare off and hide under a rock somewhere.

After Katrana had disappeared, he had no choice but to continue his duties. He snapped at one of his advisors, he was short to Anduin and even Myth gave him a single terrified look, in the library later that day, and squeaked before he fled.

Bolvar knew it wasn't all anger. Sometimes he caught himself staring into space, his mind completely blank. A _child_? Someone had _hurt_ her?

By the Light, if someone had hurt her _he would kill them_. _Nobody_ touched Katrana Prestor without her permission and got away with it.

But then, if someone had hurt her, she was entitled to be afraid.

… Or was this story to keep herself safe? To keep them _both_ safe? If they had a child and the court got wind of it… he tried not to wince at the thought. It seemed unlikely that someone like _Katrana Prestor _would let someone —

_Letting them? You think I let him?_ Suddenly, the female voice in his head burst into a furious roar. Pure rage descended upon him, his fists clenched, something exploded, his muscles knotted and his vision blurred. _I never let him, I didn't want it, I was so small and he overpowered me and I COULDN'T FIGHT HIM OFF!_ She screamed and thrashed._ I froze in sheer terror! FROZE! We mate for life, has it never occurred to you that the bigger, stronger males wouldn't use this to their advantage? I killed him for it as soon as I recovered! I killed my mate, and nobody other than Sabel looked at me for centuries because of it! SOMETIMES IT'S NOT ENOUGH!_

His vision cleared to reveal panicked faces and the distant ceiling. His hand throbbed, and felt sticky. Something jabbed into his arm, his head hurt. He heard the tinkle of glass. "What just…?"

"Someone get a healer!" he heard one of his advisors say. _Kat?_ No, Kat was gone, he was having a meeting about taxes or… _something_. He couldn't remember. When someone had him sit up he noticed the cuts in his hand, the water that had spilled onto him. _Kat_. Where was she? He wanted her here, wanted her strength…

"He just suddenly gripped it so hard it broke, then he fell down and…"

That particular meeting finished early. Brother Bronzewing didn't seem to know what the problem was and didn't ask too many questions, to his relief, and worked on treating his head and hand with little fuss. The servants cleared up the shattered glass and the water on the floor without comment. But some people gave him wary, concerned glances.

"A seizure, perhaps?" he'd looked at Horan desperately.

Horan didn't look at him. "Probably. I'm afraid that's nothing we can do if that's the case, it's not something that medicine can treat yet…"

The voices had never done _this_ to him before. Until now they'd been harmless. He shoved it from his mind. Being fearful would do nothing, dwelling on it would do nothing. It had been getting _better_, damn it! But he couldn't tell anyone. Not unless he wanted to be viewed as a madman.

For the rest of the day the anger lingered beneath the surface. And… something greater. Fear. Not ordinary, primal fear, but the nausea and putrid horror that rose with a dreaded memory. For the rest of the afternoon he heard her whimpering in his head. _I forgot_, she said. _Thousands of years, millions of things forgotten no matter how big they are… the tiniest, most insignificant details are all that's remembered, if at all… did I block it out? How many other things have I forgotten because I've lived so long?_

She was just a voice, but he felt sorry for her. Every now and then he sent her guilty shreds of comfort. She cringed from them and retreated into cold, still silence.

By the time dusk settled he had knocked on Kat's door every hour, receiving no response. No light came to life under the door. Either she'd gone to bed early, or she was still gone. He'd try in the morning.

"Highlord?"

Bolvar _tried_ not to jump six feet, two seconds too late. "Bloody hell, Kat, you scared me." He turned a glare on her. How the heck had she snuck up on him so silently? "You're back, I see. How was Nalice?"

"I do not think that Nalice understands the difference between 'burning' and 'cooking.'" Katrana slipped her key into the lock. When she pushed it open, she turned to lean on the frame, shifting her powerful gaze onto him, and for a moment he couldn't breathe at the sight of her. The line of her pale neck contrasted against her dark hair, her eyes clear, cold and demanding. "I assume that you will enter whether I like it or not."

His lip twitched in the reminiscence of a wince. "I — Lady Prestor, we should talk as soon as it's convenient for you. I understand if you want more time…"

He had no damn right to be angry with her.

"No." Kat pushed herself off the door frame and rounded on a heel. She conjured a fireball within her palm to light her way before she set about tending to the dark lanterns within. "Better now. Come in."

They stood upon the brink. Tonight, things might change forever.

Katrana knelt by the fireplace, her long hair spilling down her back as she gently coaxed the flames to life. He regarded her in silence. Where most noblewomen would shriek at a spider or demand its removal, Kat would ignore the creature, or even encourage the dreadful thing onto her hand and release it out of the window. Where most noblewomen flirted and giggled with the men, Kat spoke bluntly and honestly. Where most would scream and run away, she'd plant her hands on her hips and glare at whatever had dared to try intimidate her. She did things without fuss, complaint or sugar-coating. It was both a blessing and a curse when it came to dealing with the heir to House Prestor.

But around him, she'd always been shy. She often stiffened when he stepped too close, her kisses were hesitant but lingering, her touches rare and treasured. She only relaxed when she held a book or a chess piece, and he had liked it. It had been a lazy pace for a man with no rush to settle down, and a comfortable one for a woman to whom affection was foreign. He was her safety, her anchor. She never had to be something she wasn't around him. They'd made love, of course, in the beginning. It had felt enjoyable, but oddly out of place, _too_ fast even for him, and when it died down neither of them complained. He'd always felt guilty for it, wondering if she'd felt pressured to please him.

Katrana didn't rise from the fireplace, even though the flames crackled jovially. She was afraid. Of course she was, she had every right to be, and he'd ignored that because of his _own_ fear today. "I'll make tea," he said. He'd give her a few minutes to prepare herself. At her slight nod, he took a candle from the coffee table.

Most people Bolvar knew at least painted the walls something other than the bright white of the Keep, or had portraits or even flowers about, but Katrana's spartan kitchen held no decoration to speak of. He half expected nothing to be in the cupboards when he opened them to fetch mugs, because when they were closed it looked as if the kitchen had never been touched, as if nobody had ever lived there. The air held a hush as the candlelight's reflection in the basin flickered orange. Eerie shadows shivered on the bare walls. He set the candle on a counter and left the lanterns untouched as he tended to the stove and rummaged for tea leaves.

Perhaps not tea leaves. Ginger, for nausea. She was pale this evening. He knew ginger tea was a common remedy for morning sickness, though perhaps by now it would have ebbed. Still, it could not hurt.

He heard Katrana pacing in the next room. It drove her nuts when he did it, but tonight… for a woman who clung to "strength", she was so fearful. Perhaps that was why she preached it, perhaps she thought if she faked it enough she'd defeat her own fear. It wasn't cowardice to be human, he chided himself as he scraped the skin of the ginger root with a spoon.

Everyone felt fear. But it was so _rare_ of Katrana not to face it.

_Perhaps,_ he thought, _she simply appears to be fearless because she's afraid of different things._ She hadn't hesitated trying to brain that dragonspawn last October. He smiled at the memory. She'd been _furious_. Once upon a time her anger scared even him, but now her odd, prickly nature endeared itself to him.

Not that he wanted to ever be on the end of that temper _again_. But as blunt and rude she could be, she was genuine. He'd never noticed how transparent she could be until he'd gotten to know her. When in company, she wore a cool mask of indifference. When it was just the two of them, her beautiful face wore such a range of expressions it was fascinating to watch.

Was Nalice much different?

By the time the tea was ready, Katrana had retreated into an armchair, pressing into it as if willing it to swallow her, wearing a deep frown. He set a cup in front of her, watching her in silence. "Are you alright?"

The scowl faded, and she blinked up at him like an owl.

In the silence, he sat down opposite her. "I wanted to talk to you because I thought there might be some things you wouldn't want to say in front of the others that you could… confide in me."

"Indeed." She licked her lips, gazing into the fire. "You know me better than you give yourself credit for."

His palms felt hot and sticky with sweat. He put off his words for another snatched moment to sip from his tea. Damn, he'd made it too strong. The liquid rippled in the cup as his hand shook. It clinked against the saucer as he set it down onto the table. He softened his voice. "Tell me, then."

"I did not lie to Bronzewing." Still, she didn't look at him. "Nor Sutton. They lied to protect me. Bronzewing has talked to Samantha Inkweaver too often to… throw me to the wolves."

"So the attack…"

"Did not happen, no." Katrana looked away. The fire illuminated her sharp profile. "The child is yours, yes. Nobody need ever know the truth. I implore you not to share it."

"Kat," he said, "I'd never betray you. Ever. I'm not going to throw you to the wolves."

_His_ child. _His_ son or daughter. He sat back in the chair during their mutual silence, blinking into space. _His_ son or daughter. A child with her frost-coloured eyes, or his hair. Or, more likely, her dark hair. A mini Katrana Prestor…

He pressed a hand to his mouth to muffle his snicker. Stormwind had better watch out.

_That poor child,_ said the female voice in his head. She sounded like Onyxia did in his dreams.

_Son! Or a daughter!_

But oh, how things would _change_. He'd never thought he'd ever have a family. He'd always been too busy with his work, and when he reached thirty five with only a string of failed relationships to show for it, he'd accepted it would never happen. But _now_…

How much _trouble_ they'd get into if the Court found out! He rubbed his temples, frowning deeply. Getting involved with Katrana Prestor had been risky enough, but… "I thought you couldn't have children?"

"So did I," was her only comment. "The healers that treated me when I was young evidently were mistaken." She sighed, shaking her head.

"Kat," he said. "Look at me. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"I am not _afraid_." She scowled, but still didn't look at him. "But a single word from you and all of this," she gestured at her surroundings, "is gone. My career, my life, everything. What would you have me do?"

"You don't trust me."

"Do I trust _anyone_?"

What else could he expect from Katrana Prestor? She was such a cold, distant woman, it was amazing that _Bronzewing_ had been trusted with this knowledge.

Bronzewing. And not him. "And just when were you planning on telling me about this, anyway?"

She gave that light shrug of hers that she always did when she pretended not to give a damn. "I wanted to hide it for as long as possible. Perhaps, further down the track, you... may have taken it better."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not exactly taking it _badly_."

"I am not certain you are taking it at all." She peered at him.

"It's not exactly sunk in yet," Bolvar admitted. "It's big news, Kat. You must understand that, well. This changes everything."

"I _know_ that," she snapped.

Damn it. Calm the wild beast, Bolvar, as if you don't do it _all the damned time_. Walk on those eggshells around her, try not to trigger her temper or her desire to flee.

He shoved his resentment aside. Now was not the time. This would test them both, and it was not a test he planned on failing. _But perhaps Kat would,_ he thought.

Fel. Katrana would make a bloody terrible mother, now he thought about it. He hid his eyes behind a hand, hoping she couldn't see his thoughts on his face. He could see her as either the angry stifling mother from _hell_; or she'd never look at it twice. She barely paid any attention to Anduin, and though she seemed to like Samantha she barely noticed Amandine even after the child got sick.

He waited to feel guilty for such thoughts.

He didn't.

He was fond of Kat, he didn't deny that, but he'd never given thought to starting a family with her, even without her supposed infertility. He'd thought his time for starting a family was long past... even if Katrana and he had worked out, by the time they could marry without legal repercussions, Katrana would too old to bear a child without considerable risk. She was not a young mother as it was.

And if the nobility found out...

Poor, poor Katrana. They'd rip him apart as well, but she was the female. She would bear the brunt of it. They'd call for her resignation, spread slander... she'd be _ruined_. It had been bad enough for Samantha Inkweaver, and she was a _servant!_ What would they do to the head advisor?

He wouldn't let that happen. He lowered his hand to see Katrana staring into the fire.

_It will all fail_, said the female voice in his head, which he barely noticed. He didn't notice them much these days. They were only voices. _I do not know what to do. I never have. I am weak._

He'd never seen her look _sad_ before, but now a soft frown he'd never seen before graced her features. Did she know how expressive she could be? She always guarded herself in front of the other nobles, but rarely him these days. Perhaps she did trust him, to a certain extent.

This was not going to be easy. But they were both adults, hardly like teenagers who went through something similar all the time. He sat on the thick arm of her chair. "Kat."

She still did not look up at him.

"Don't be so worried." He took her hand and squeezed it. "I'm here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. What do you want, Kat? There are options, you know."

Her free hand massaged one of her temples. "I want everything to be as it was before."

His heart sank slightly. He would never allow Kat to be risked, and he would not dispute whatever she would do with the child, but... he _would_ like to know his son or daughter.

Gods. Son or daughter. It still hadn't sunk in. _Son or daughter_. She was going to give birth to a _living, breathing, human being_. "And how do you want to do that?"

"What is it _you_ want?" she said.

How unusual it was, for her to ask someone else's opinion first. Did she truly care what he thought? "I want you to make a decision knowing that I will support you no matter what you choose," he said. "And I do mean that. I don't want things to change between us, I have no intention of leaving your side until you send me away. I know you must be angry at me for my part in this. I want you to know that everything between us is safe."

"But what do you want, Bolvar?"

"With the child?" he said. He frowned, stroking the palm of her hand with his thumb. He felt her stiffen at the motion, and then slowly relax. _It's alright, Kat,_ he wanted to say to her. _Don't be afraid of me._ She was often so distant, so unused to when he displayed more than basic affection. "I would... I would like to know him or her."

A child. A _child_.

"I do not want the nobility to find out about the child," said Katrana. "If they do, I do not want them to know its parentage."

"_Someone_ would have to deliver it..." Bolvar frowned. "Bronzewing could when the time comes, or Sutton, but should we raise it and not give it up for adoption, unless one of us stays with the child all day, someone will need to take care of it."

"Samantha," said Katrana.

"You trust her to keep quiet?" Fel, they'd not known her long.

But who else was there?

"She owes me." Only now did Kat look up at him as if she'd never shown fear, her eyes blazing with confidence. "I doubt she would wish to let me down."

"If you say so." Sometimes he was sure Kat was more comfortable around Samantha than _him_. "But given the circumstances around her right now I'm not sure it would be tactful to tell her."

Katrana tilted her head. "You are correct, but there is nobody else I would trust aside from Nalice, and..."

"Oh, _gods_, no."

"I thought you would say that." She smirked.

"We don't even know that Nalice is trustworthy yet," said Bolvar. "You barely know her, remember."

"Perhaps not," Katrana murmured. "But I trust her more than the nobility combined."

Bolvar frowned. Perhaps Katrana more admired people who were ruthless. He sighed and shook his head. "I'd rather Nalice did not know, at least until we can both trust her."

"We will see," said Katrana.

Silence passed between them. Bolvar continued to trace circles into Katrana's palm with his thumb. "Do you want to know the child? Do you want to raise it?"

_It will need me,_ said the woman in his head. _You won't know how to handle it._

He stopped himself from snorting. The voices in his head were hardly experts on Katrana Prestor, between the deep voice of the woman in his head (and he was _sure_ it was a woman. It didn't sound like any woman he'd ever met, he just knew it was female) and the even-deeper demonic voice of the man.

At least, he thought it was a man.

_And I like children_, she said.

He dreamed of Onyxia occasionally, but none so distinct as the nightmare he'd had of Reggie, Katrana Prestor and Onyxia some time ago. Onyxia had sounded exactly like the female voice in his head. For no particular reason, he didn't doubt. Dragons were just dragons, whilst voices in the head were… signs of being _batshit insane_, but they'd never hurt him until his little _episode_ today. The male voice —

_The Taint_, said Onyxia.

… The _Taint_ was somewhat scary, but _that_ was probably his repressed anger. And "Onyxia" was his fear. Probably fear of the dragons —

_Don't you have a child to talk about?_ said Onyxia.

… Right. Pregnancy, child, Kat. What was he doing thinking about the voices in his head? They'd done little harm so far, but he had to keep an eye on himself. Nobody else was there to look out for him. And if anyone found out…

_Disgusting mortal spawn_, the Taint growled.

He wasn't worried about having a _kid_, he was more worried about whatever was wrong with him escalating! If someone found out about his lapse of sanity, he'd lose his job, he'd lose Anduin —

_Calm down_, he told himself. They never did anything to be worried about. Sure, the Taint enjoyed telling Onyxia how terrible humanity was and how they should all die, but it wasn't as if it had compelled him to do anything he shouldn't. He was _safe_. Maybe not entirely sane, but mental illness did not equate with being homicidal.

And besides, it wasn't as if the _real_ Onyxia lived inside his head.

_Of course not_, said Onyxia. _Dragons are mindless beasts. I am a quite dignified and well-educated woman who will never, under any circumstances, compel you to do anything that benefits me or dragon kind._

_Are you laughing at me?_ He asked her.

_Yes._

Damn it, he didn't just have voices in his head, he had multiple personalities. And one thought she was an infamous dragon. _Wonderful. _No doubt the real Onyxia would be quite offended.

At that moment he jerked back to the present. Had Kat answered? Blast, he hadn't been able to tell. But at that moment she said, "I would like to. I would… miss you, however."

He blinked. "Miss me? Kat, don't do what you think would keep me around." That wasn't like her, not at all. "Do what you want."

"I do not do it to simply gain your approval," Katrana snorted. Good. Nobody could ever accuse her of sucking up. "I am simply noting that if you were to not be a part of my life I would..." She paused with a frown. "…find it lacking."

Had he told her about the passage? He wasn't sure. Fel, it couldn't hurt to bring it up again anyway, he couldn't remember ever taking her through it. "When I first became Highlord I had a lot of trouble sleeping because I was working too hard. I ended up hunting around for spare quarters especially to keep my books and my study in, rather than using the room in my apartment for that purpose, so that once I went to bed I wasn't tempted to get up and keep going. One of them had a secret passage that led to another empty set of quarters. I've been using them ever since." He ran a hand through his hair. "To... make things easier, I was thinking you could take the set of rooms where I keep my study, and I'll just put my things back in my quarters. That way I can easily check up on you and vice versa, if you want, and nobody would be suspicious by my coming and going."

"I would not want you to work when you should be sleeping." Katrana sighed. "Then perhaps you should remain with me. So I can… keep an eye on you."

That was the closest Katrana would ever come to saying _don't leave me alone!_ "You want me to stay with you?"

"Perhaps I was too forward." Katrana looked away. "I do not mean to be too bold, I simply wish for you to be near. Nobody would ever need to know, with the passage."

"Then we'll do that." Bolvar smiled. He stroked the back of her hand after turning it over in his own. Beside him, she had closed her eyes and leaned back into the arm chair. A great lift had been weighted from her shoulders, after all.

_You should do the right thing_, said a voice in his head.

He was pretty sure it was his _own_, but he didn't consciously think that. Did he? The skin at his chest felt warm, but he barely acknowledged that thought before it slid away as if it had never been, like wet soap between the fingers of a child. But it wasn't the Taint nor Onyxia who'd said that, so it must have been him. Of course. He shouldn't question himself. _Do the right thing_, he thought. _Marry her?_

_Yes._

It was a logical idea, but Kat hadn't even said if she wanted their lazy, gentle romance to continue. But then… _if something happens to you — me — then I would want her to be provided for. A legal connection with me would ensure that goodwill is sent her way, if nothing else, and to allow the nobles to know that I stand fully behind her if they make the discovery. If something happened to me she could legally become Regent Lady with little dispute even if the child is revealed._

Briefly, he puzzled over why he had addressed himself as _you_, wondered why it would be important Kat could become Regent Lady, but that observation escaped him too, and then he forgot it had ever been. Instead, he felt compelled to open his mouth and say, "Kat, we should get married. For the child's sake. Nobody need ever know, Horan could perform the ceremony. But I intend on staying with you to raise the child, and I want to do it right."

"I don't suppose I have much choice in the matter," murmured Katrana. "But…"

Bolvar sighed. "Kat, you always have a choice," he said. "If you don't want to, that's fair enough. I can see why you wouldn't want to. We've been together, what, only a few months now? And we're not exactly joined at the hip or living the love of fairy tales with fireworks exploding behind our eyes. What we have is a quiet companionship. And I understand if you don't want that, or don't even want to be together after this, or if you even say yes but want the option to see other people. But I want to support you as best as I could."

"I…" She gazed into the fire. "I accept, then. I am grateful, Bolvar."

_I'm glad it's you_, said Onyxia. Her voice was louder now, clearer, as if the veil between them had thinned. _You are different. You make no demands of me. You respect me. I care for you. I am sorry._

He kissed the back of her hand. "It'll be alright." Bloody hell. A kid, a _kid_. He was having a _child_. He couldn't imagine having a child. What if someone found out? What if he ruined the child? He tore his thoughts away from their grim path. "For now, why don't you think about names?"

* * *

_**A/N:** Thanks to all who reviewed!_

_**sdfsgsd34**: (I had to copy-paste that.) I do think certain characters would swear, but I'll admit now that I cuss like a sailor IRL and tend to forget how jarring it is for some people. I really hope it isn't excessive, (I have an embarrassing history when it comes to excessiveness that I'd hoped I'd killed) I'll keep a closer eye on it. So thanks for pointing that out!_

**_Seripithus:_**_ I'm glad they make you happy!_

**_Kai:_**_ Thank you so much! Alas, I have been neglecting Jettion. I miss him!_

**_Ariaelyne:_**_ You know what would also be fun to see? Katrana Prestor VS Jaina Proudmoore. I am so upset with myself I never fit in an opportunity for that. It would be epic._

**_Zeitlos:_**_ Here's what you've been waiting for!_

**_KyreanNightblood:_**_ Thank you! I always like to see NPCs fleshed out._


	32. Tact is for the Weak

_**A/N:** Alas, another short chapter today. I'm not sure if there'll be an update until the week after next - I'll try get it up for the usual time but I'm having a bit of trouble with RL at the mo'. TOD is one of my biggest priorities but every once in a while it's like pulling teeth and I need to back off for a bit._

_Good news, though, the first draft of part one is complete and part one will end between chapter 40-43, depending on how the editing goes! It was a blast to write but it's taken a fair bit out of me, lol. That doesn't mean any of it is edited, though, heh!_

_Thank you to **Coincidencless** for the beta work!_

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One**

* * *

In the distance, a man in orange robes picked herbs.

Bolvar watched him. He walked with a limp, just as Bolvar had dreamed for months. Blackrock Mountain loomed high above them, and the hot air dried the sweat on Bolvar's skin.

A roar stole his attention. Bolvar turned to see two dragons in a tussle. One, easily half the size of the other, had the bigger one's head pinned to the ground, a growl in her throat.

"Once upon a time…" The bigger dragon struggled and snarled, "being someone's consort meant you _loved_ them."

"Once upon a time, our race was weak." The female's claws dug into the male's scales, her yellow eyes narrowed to slits. "As are you, you disgusting, mortal-loving _worm_. As Deathwing's daughter, it is _I_ who holds authority over _you_, Orion. And, allow us to be honest. You neither love me, nor do I love you, so silence your old fashioned preaching."

Her strength didn't last long before the male threw her off him. The female's relatively tiny body went flying, before the male slammed a paw over her throat. She struggled and writhed, all fours rising to rake at the male's foreleg and underbelly. He snarled, his teeth bared. Fire spewed from the female's mouth right into his face, but when it sputtered out seconds later he was unaffected.

He glared down at her. "Then, tell me. What is your will?"

Her jaws manoevered to close around his foreleg. He snarled, but jerking back only tore the wound. The small female wriggled out from underneath him and rolled upright, her crest standing high, horns posed as if ready to gouge him.

"The Titans purge the weak, just as they deserve." They rounded one another, the female's gaze steady and cold on the enemy twice her size. "So that we may grow stronger without them."

The words washed over him in an incoherent, gibberish mess that his mind fished meaning out of. He watched the dragons fight, transfixed. He'd never seen wild animals fight before.

"Nalice agrees with me, Onyxia." Blood gleamed in the orange light at the male's foreleg, but he ignored it as the two dragons continued to circle one another. "Earth knows I _loathe_ her, but she agrees with me."

"Nalice is a fool who thinks her mother commands the moons and sun." As Onyxia circled, Bolvar felt a palpable aura of power.

"We _need_ them." Orion sensed it, his eyes narrowing further, claws digging into the earth with every step he took.

"Only the weak need assistance."

Orion let out a bitter bark that could have been laughter. "Sabel _was_ right about you. You are too obsessed with pride and your own arrogance to lead the Flight. It'll crumble under your command — "

Onyxia lunged for the throat, a purple blur dwarfed by her foe, who barely dodged in time. Bolvar planted his palms over his ears as both dragons roared. His ear drums ached and threatened to rupture. His heart stammered, and he took a step back and stumbled straight into the guest he'd forgotten about.

The roaring faded, as if muffled, as Bolvar fell to the ground. He blinked up at the other human. Baron Sablemane sighed, and offered a hand to Bolvar.

Bolvar took it. The herbalist pulled him up.

No longer were the roars of the fighting dragons deafening. It was as if Bolvar stood behind some kind of magical shield which deadened the cacophony. He caught sight of Onyxia's bitten crest, blood flecking her maw. In spite of her small size it took all of Orion's skill to keep up with her, and she looked to be winning, her eyes ablaze with fury and madness.

"Your love for him is what makes you weak, you fool." Finally, Onyxia pinned him again. Orion growled and writhed, but Onyxia fixed a jaw around the back of his neck and he went limp. She replaced it with tight claws as she lifted her head to speak. "You do not fool me now. You have no intention of saving the Flight. You only want to save _him_."

"And you don't?" Under her grip, he looked sleepy. Why didn't he struggle any longer?

"No." Onyxia's claws tightened and dug into the loose flap of skin at the back of Orion's neck. "Sabel is dead, and so are all who followed him. You entertain foolish fancies."

"My disappearance was hard on Orion." The Baron's deep voice was solemn as he watched the pair of dragons. "He got along with the other dragons better than I could, but he was not immune to love. They all think they are. Orion merely faced his truth."

Bolvar rose an eyebrow. "Gay dragon?"

The Baron sighed, exasperated. He spoke in a tone normally reserved for small children. "No. There _is_ more to sexuality than black and white."

"I didn't even know gay dragons _existed_," said Bolvar. "But then, this _is_ a dream."

"Did you even _listen_ — " The Baron shook his head. "Yes, dragons form homosexual pairings, does that satisfy you? Onyxia's only living mate is female."

"Breeding is not the only purpose of pairings," said the Baron, watching them still. "Once upon a time, being mates with someone meant being allied. Of course, that has all since gone to hell, as the mortals say…" he gestured to the fighting dragons. Orion squirmed again. "It used to be a scandal if mates fought one another. Perhaps, one day, it will be as it once was, before the War of the Ancients. I wish I had lived to see that day."

"What are they fighting over?" said Bolvar, watching as if it were an entertaining play.

The Baron sighed. "Orion thought that if he became Onyxia's prime consort, he would have control over the Dragonflight like Sintharia once did with Deathwing. She was not amused to find this out…"

"Remember this, Orion." Onyxia loomed closer to Orion's head, her entire bodyweight perched on his back. "You may have tricked me once… but you will never, ever do so again. You will never humiliate me in front of Romathis again. And if you do —"

"What?" Orion's voice came in a grunt. "You'll kill me, your consort?"

"These days, heads turn away when such a crime occurs." Her claws punctured his neck, blood beading. "You and Sabel clung to your precious tradition, but life is not what it used to be. Things change. Do not forget that."

Orion snarled as Onyxia braced herself, and then propelled herself into the air from his back. Her wings spread to catch the hot air of the Steppes, and in moments she wheeled away. The male dragon left curled up, licking his injured foreleg.

"He was right." The Baron looked sad as he gazed at the injured male. "Once upon a time, primes and consorts _did_ love each other. Whatever happened to that?"

-o-O-o-

Bolvar woke in darkness to hear his clock chime five o'clock. Already the remnants of the dream began to fade away, but he had the feeling the Steppes were involved. He should roll over, settle back down and get some more rest.

Instead, he crept out of bed and padded to the wardrobe. In ten minutes he was out the door, a hood over his head and his clothes still cold on his skin. He hadn't gone on a pre-dawn walk in a long time.

Life went on as normal within Stormwind, and in this silent stillness Bolvar could pretend that he and Leo were caught up in their own lives, that Reggie still went to the Pig and Whistle often, and that the Brotherhood ensnared Leo with paperwork. Well, the Brotherhood _did_ keep him busy, but never before had Leo disappeared off the face of the earth without letting Bolvar know first. Bolvar had checked in with Lana Stoutwell and Tarani Jensen on occasion, but Leo had yet to return.

And neither had he written to Bolvar.

The pre-dawn emerged to lead the night away. The stars started to fade. As he turned into Old Town an eerie silence closed in on him. Dead leaves skittered along the cobbles. The signs hanging from their buildings squeaked as they swung in the gentle breeze.

Dawn was the bridge between the night and day, a collection of moments of rapturous silence. The nightlife had shrunk away from the first rays of the sun before they even showed and left no stragglers behind, but the day was yet to bring with it its people, who still fought wakefulness in their beds and clung to the shreds of their dreams.

In the old days before Varian died, every Wednesday night he and Leo took bets and watched Reggie try to outdrink a dwarf or two. Reggie won far more often than any human should against a dwarf, and the sound of Leo's raucuous laughter still rang in Bolvar's ears. He passed the Pig and Whistle with a sad frown. At this hour nobody came in or out of its wide open doors.

He wondered what Leo and Reggie would think of his upcoming _arrangement_. Leo would be livid, of course, but he couldn't see Reggie doing more than cocking an eyebrow.

The sun's waking rays followed him with their soft warmth as he continued on in his walk, letting himself get lost. During the day Old Town was the quietest district, but not this empty. And yet…

Slowly, steadily, it came to a mockery of life. Bolvar saw the last of SI:7's nocturnal agents skipping home over the rooftops, or some bleary-eyed man or woman opening their shutters to the lightening dawn. When Bolvar found himself walking by the Pig and Whistle a second time, the great doors closed. A child dashed past Bolvar to the west. There, the Trade District would be crammed full already.

Down the street drifted a familiar voice. "So it's sort of like having a hierarchy of wives? Interesting."

"Incorrect." He liked _this_ voice much less. "A hierarchy of _partners_. Remember that having a mate is like an arranged marriage, a political alliance of sorts that is consummated. At the lowest tier you have mates. Then — "

"Then you've got consorts, and they're like the partners you love?"

"A long time ago, so the legend goes, but in present day, from Lady Prestor's notes, they are more like mates that one has a closer association with. They are stronger alliances. Lastly, a prime consort is the one that a dragon's most closely allied with, and the prime consort is never replaced until death."

"Miss Nalice," said Bolvar, as the two women came around the corner. "Miss Samantha. Good morning."

The two women started as they rounded the corner. Samantha's bleary eyes struggled to focus on him. She sounded sharp, but she looked as if she was about to drop of fatigue at any moment. Nalice, of course, looked unfazed. Did she ever get tired, or have a mood other than 'annoyed'?

Probably not.

"Fancy seeing you here at this time of morning," said Nalice, in the same tone one would say, _fancy seeing you alive, you son of a bitch._

"Mornin'!" Samantha yawned, rubbing an eye. "Nalice kept me up all night. We were talking about this dragon business. Haven't heard from them in a while."

"That's not for me to discuss, I'm afraid." He pulled his cloak tighter around him. But no, they hadn't. Since that one incident in October, since Reggie's disappearance, they'd dropped off the face of Azeroth. Though Shaw was as vigilant as ever, Bolvar had relaxed. Sure, the voice in his head sounded like Onyxia, but it wasn't as if it was the _real_ Onyxia. Though, it was a disturbing possibility, it could be that Onyxia…

Something brushed his mind.

… Could be that Ony… that…

… What was he thinking about, again? Hmm. Couldn't be important, if he forgot it halfway through thinking it. Something to do with dragons? No, probably not. The dragons were not a threat anymore, the Dragonbane had flushed out none at all.

"Their culture sounds fascinating, you know," Samantha babbled happily. "I was talking to Nalice, her aunt's told her a lot about them, did you know? I guess she really likes her dragons."

"You must sleep." Nalice frowned at Sam, her voice airy. "Your troubles with Kair will ease themselves soon, I am certain."

"I do hope everything's alright." Bolvar tucked his hands into his pockets. "If there is anything I can do, don't hesitate to let me know."

Samantha snorted lightly.

Nalice rose an eyebrow even more perfectly groomed than Katrana's. "Pardon me. After what happened to Samantha last year, I was not under the impression any nobles held her in enough regard to ever offer her assistance, excepting my aunt."

"We've done all we can to remedy that situation." Something hot twinged in Bolvar's chest. Was that hate? "We cannot change the past, and Samantha has already had my personal apologies. Lady Prestor acted in a way the rest of the nobility should aspire to."

They'd think that was hilarious.

"Indeed." Nalice didn't smile.

"It's fine, Highlord." Sam's own wavered at him with uncertainty. "Kair and I are fine, that is. You know how it is, he just prefers his books to talking with people. I've been a bit lonely but Nalice keeps me company. She's very good to me."

"Ah, what selfishness." Nalice snorted. "What man pays more attention to a fictional world than the people around him? A weak one, that is for certain."

Bolvar prickled. "It's well within his right to do so, Miss Nalice, if that is what he prefers — "

"Don't mind her." Sam yawned. "She can be a bitch at times. She's nice, though. Underneath all her hostility."

Bolvar cringed on Nalice's behalf and waited for her to explode, but she looked completely unfazed by Sam's remark. "So I have heard," she said instead, and it took all of Bolvar not to burst out laughing on the spot. This wasn't Katrana. This was _Nalice_. Nalice had no kindness underneath her, and Bolvar did not doubt that for one moment, no matter how well he didn't know her. Thank _gods_ it was Kat he was going to marry, and not her. "But better to be 'a bitch', as you put it, than to be someone who allows the nobility to walk all over them."

This time, Bolvar snapped, "You go too far. Don't insult her — "

"It's fine, Highlord. She's right." Sam turned to Nalice and gave her a short bow of the head, which Nalice returned with a regal incline of her neck. What an odd gesture. "G'night, Nalice. Er, morning. I'll see you whenever you're next at the Keep, then."

"Perhaps I could escort you back, Miss Samantha?" said Bolvar.

Samantha's brow creased with faint annoyance, and Nalice opened her mouth, but before the harpy could say anything Samantha said, "That would be kind, thank you."

It wasn't until Nalice was long out of earshot that Bolvar said, "It shouldn't have to be."

"Hmm?"

"Right, that is. You shouldn't have to choose between taking care of yourself and being kind to people." Bolvar tugged his hood further over his face. Samantha shivered in hers. "That's a black and white attitude that blames you for things that... aren't your fault. Does Nalice blame you for what — "

"She's right though," said Samantha. "I can control my life, and it's up to me whether I allow other people to. In the end, I have to take responsibility and not blame others for — "

"But you cannot possibly blame yourself for what others choose to do," said Bolvar. "I let you down. The people around you let you down."

"So I must be ready for when they do, don't you think?" said Samantha.

Bolvar had no answer to that.

-o-O-o-

Instead, he made peace with himself and Samantha by offering to visit Amandine with Anduin, and she accepted with that faint, not-quite-there smile of hers, as if she felt guilty for wearing it. So later that morning, during an assembly recess, Bolvar and Anduin made their way to the infirmary. Horan Bronzewing led them past the large room lined with beds deeper inside, through corridors and into another room.

To his surprise, Kat was there. She perked up at his arrival, and he gave her a warm smile. Kat tapped the glass without a word. Brother Bronzewing hung back, clasping his hands together.

Anduin walked up to it and peered inside.

Inside, Samantha looked up from where she held Amandine, and walked up to the glass. "See?" she said, her voice slightly muffled by both the glass and the thin cloth mask across her mouth and nose. "Say hello, Amandine."

"That woman needs sleep," Bronzewing tutted. "It's good of her to come every day but she needs _sleep_."

Amandine should have grown bigger, at over five months old by now, but instead she looked smaller than Bolvar remembered. The white blankets matched her pale skin. "Isn't she tiny?" Samantha murmured. "She's got another infection but she doesn't cry as much as she used to."

"We cannot simply cleanse the diseases away, Highlord." Brother Bronzewing's gaze fell on Bolvar, as if he'd read his mind. "With Mandy's immune system as bad as it is, not allowing it the chance to fight off any diseases will weaken it even further and make future infections worse." He looked at Bolvar solemnly. "And not all infections immediately show symptoms... one could easily take her away from us before we even know it's there if we cleansed every infection from her."

"So why not regularly cleanse her?"

"The Light may be powerful, but not infallable." Bronzewing clasped his hands behind him. "We don't want to strengthen the diseases by allowing them the opportunity to grow resistant."

_Oh_, Bolvar mouthed silently. "I never trained in the healing arts." He shook his head. "Only in protecting others with the Light... for what good it does here."

He glimpsed a few bruises when the blanket fell, before Samantha tucked them back into place. They were bigger than he remembered. "Does she always have those?"

"It's a key sign of the Blood Sickness," said Brother Bronzewing. "They are not ordinary bruises."

"Could we hold the little one?"

Brother Bronzewing pressed his lips tightly together. Inside, Samantha shook her head. "I'd rather I and Brother Bronzewing were the only ones she has contact with." She tucked Mandy into the little cot in the corner of the room. When she came out, only then did Bolvar see she had thin cloth gloves on, which she threw into a wastebasket. She pulled off her mask as well. "Katrana, you wanted to tell me something?"

Wait. What?

Oh. It must relate to something else. Kat couldn't be _that_ tactless —

"Samantha, I did not want you to feel that you were being sheltered and excluded." Katrana clasped her hands. "And Brother Bronzewing should know as well."

Gods. She wasn't about to... Bolvar said, "I'm not sure that now's the best — "

"Bolvar and I are expecting a little one."

She did.

Was she and Nalice long-lost twins or something, to both be so lacking of _common sense?_ Even Anduin's eyes slid into Mandy's room with a sheepish look.

Bolvar waited for Samantha to tear up, but to his astonishment she brightened instead. "Really?" she said. "That's amazing! Congratulations!"

"Oh." Anduin sounded relieved. "I thought Lady Prestor was a dragon."

Bolvar couldn't help it. He broke down into laughter. Most of it, he was sure, came from his embarrassment from Kat's social failure. "Where did you come up with _that_?"

There was a dying child in the other room, and here they were talking about _pregnancy_. By the Light, if only the ground would open up and swallow him whole!

Kat stiffened beside him. "I fail to see how one could come to those conclusions."

"'Cause she's, y'know..." Anduin shuffled on the spot, eyes widening. "... um. Beautiful, like a dragon?"

"What he means is, you have a bad temper," Sam smirked playfully. As if this was all a game. By the _Light_…

Kat sniffed. "Perhaps."

Samantha almost bounced on the spot. Brother Bronzewing's sad eyes followed her. "Have you got any names yet?"

"No, we have not discussed it," said Kat. She took Samantha's hand in hers, catching Bolvar's breath in his chest. "Sam, we would like you to witness our legal union. It is, of course, strictly secret, and we would like Brother Bronzewing to officiate."

Did Kat just _touch_ her?

Bronzewing beamed, nodding. "Of course."

"You're getting married?" Sam blinked down at their hands, just as confused as Bolvar felt. "I — I'd love to!"

"You would need a second witness," said Brother Bronzewing.

"Please please please please please please please?" said Anduin.

Bolvar sighed. "Of course, Andy. But we need someone of legal age for a witness as well."

"Perhaps I could suggest Nalice?" said Kat.

"She has only been here a few months!" said Bolvar.

"She's nasty, yeah," said Sam. "But if you need a witness — "

"I don't trust her not to tell," said Bolvar.

"Who could she tell?" said Sam.

Anyone. Just because Nalice had no friends other than Sam didn't mean she was incapable of talking. "No," he said, earning a cocked eyebrow from Katrana. "I don't trust her."

"Kair, maybe?" said Sam.

"He may tell his little one, and Myth could very easily slip up," said Kat. "Perhaps we can compromise. Adam Rivers is very trustworthy. He would not tell a soul."

Bolvar didn't know the exact nature of their relationship, even after all this time. Rivers still dutifully delivered Kat books, but they never seemed particularly close. Still, it was good to know that Kat was on good terms with him, if nothing else. "Well," he said. "I worked with him when I was palace captain. He _is_ a good man. Couldn't hurt a fly." True, Adam Rivers rarely smiled, but he still seemed oddly chipper for a man that never did. If a cruel cell ever grew in his body Bolvar was sure the rest of him would squish it. "Rivers, then. He is dependable, he has shown that quality."

"So it's a secret wedding, then?" said Sam.

"I do not know that the ceremony would be much, given what we have to go with." Was that a faint smile from Katrana? "But it is enough. It will be quite soon."

If only Leo or Reggie were here. Years ago they'd all wondered what to do if they got married and needed a best man, with the three of them. They'd agreed Bolvar at Leo's, Leo at Reggie's, Reggie's at Bolvar's... they'd never gotten married, though, none of them. And now...

Reggie wasn't here.

He'd have trusted the two of them. Leo despised Kat, but he would have put it aside. The three of them were like brothers, and today, Bolvar's heart ached to know both men weren't here to find out about it, knowing that one was dead and wouldn't _ever_ find out...

Bolvar hadn't cried for Reggie's death. None of them ever cried. But he felt an odd prickling at the corners of his vision as he wondered what Reggie would think, looking down on all of them.

"Auntie Kat?" said Anduin.

First Kat willingly touching somebody else, then Samantha taking the news well, and now Anduin referring to Kat as "Auntie Kat."

If only he could start the day all over again.

"Yes, Anduin?" Kat's head tilted to the side.

"Do you think, if it's okay, we could have Varian or Tiffin as a middle name for the baby?"

"I don't see a problem with that." Bolvar smiled. "I think they would've liked that."

_I'm sorry_, said Onyxia. _They're gone and it's my fault. The things I would do for my kin…_

He shook it off. Was this some twisted part of his subconscious, thinking he was responsible for their deaths? Unless Onyx… unless…

… Damn it, he had to stop forgetting his thoughts halfway through thinking them.

"Of course, Anduin," said Kat.

As jovial as the atmosphere had been moments before, when they scattered after making plans, a heavy cloud descended on them all as they all thought of those who would never see the child being born... or the mother who would have lost hers by its birth. Bolvar stopped himself biting his fiancée's head off. _Honestly_. Tact didn't seem to run in Katrana's family. What kind of heartlessness prompted her to tell them _now_?

Katrana had walked on ahead with Anduin to drop him off with his tutor before they went back to the assembly hall. Samantha leaned against the thick glass separating them from little Amandine within.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't think she'd tell you now."

Samantha shrugged it off, but Bolvar recognised the dead look in her eyes all-too well. "I'd hardly have taken it better if Mandy was dead by the time she told me. I'm _glad_ she told me now." Her eyes glistened and her voice sounded choked.

"We should have waited — "

"Bolvar," said Samantha. "I mean — Highlord."

"Bolvar is quite fine," said Bolvar. "You are a friend, now, Samantha."

"Then at least have the decency to call me Sam," she said, with that sad smile of hers. "Bolvar, whether you told me now or in a few hours, do you really think the grief over Mandy would be any different? I'd be just as upset then as I am now. I'm _always_ upset. Sometimes I just... forget for a while, but telling me would have brought it back." She splayed her hands against the window and leaned on it, smudging the glass with prints. "I know you hate Nalice. I know everyone else does, too, I don't even think Katrana likes her much. Because of the brutal things she's said about my grief regarding Mandy, I should've dropped her like a hot potato because that's not good for me... but she's the first person who ever treated me like I was _capable_, like I wasn't some incompetent idiot. She's hard on me because she knows I can handle it, and Katrana knew I'd handle it just fine, too. I'm not some fluffy little puppy to protect, Bolvar. I am happy for you. I'm upset as hell that my own little girl won't make it long enough to see your little one born... but, to be honest, I'm just really happy Katrana told me at all, rather than keeping me in the dark. And I'm thankful for that. Don't ever treat me like I'm going to break, it only makes me doubt my own strength."

Guilt. His best friend. He sighed. "I didn't think of it that way. But I still think she should have waited until we were out of the infirmary at the very least. I don't like this… disregard for your feelings."

"Yeah," said Sam bluntly. "That was stupid." She sighed. "Someone else might've hurt her for it, but that's Katrana. She's always like that."

She pushed off the glass. "I'll be fine, Bolvar. One way or another. Congratulations. And I mean that."

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "I still can't believe it's _happening_."

* * *

_**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who has reviewed!_

**_Blank: _**_Have to be careful of those whelps! ;)_

**_JustMe: _**_Buahaha, that would be fun._

**_Kai:_**_ Funny you should say that about Orion... we'll hear more from Hora later!_

**_Zeitlos:_**_ We'll be back with Onyx soon! Thank you for your kind words._

**_Ariaelyne:_**_ Writing this has made me want to read about the other Flights. I can only imagine what was going through Malygos' head..._


	33. Stargazing

_**A/N:** Back to weekly updates! This chapter was a pain in the neck, especially because I've been having headaches and been unable to focus. I'm doing better now!_

_Thank you to **Coincidencless** for their hilarious commentary and lovely beta work, for catching all those embarrassing mistakes!_

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

_"I wish it was over, and I wish you were here."_

— _A Shot in the Dark, Within Temptation_

* * *

Less than two decades was hardly long enough for Katrana to settle into the quarters she'd been given upon her arrival to Stormwind when she found herself moved again. For an entire day she simmered in annoyance as servants bustled about moving furniture, but due to her less than materialistic qualities it did not take as long as it could have. Most of her possessions were books, and by sundown she ejected the servants from her quarters and set to finishing the rest of the work herself. Now that the morning sickness had abated thanks to what was dubbed the "second trimester" of the parasite's residence within her, she had more energy to expend and did so with delight.

"I expect," said Katrana, when a visitor barged in without knocking, "that you are not here to help."

Nalice's nose wrinkled as she shut the door behind her. "_That's servant's work._"

"Only a fool relies upon others entirely." Katrana pushed a few books into their place on the shelf. "And stay in Common. There's a passage behind here, which is why these quarters are mine."

"Ah, Fordragon's keeping an eye on you." Nalice crossed her arms, standing there and staring as Katrana fished books from a box. "This was his, I recall. He had two sets of quarters? How greedy."

"There is plenty of space in the Keep, it's not unusual for noble families to pay a second rent." Katrana stretched. Her back ached already. This body was so _fragile_, especially with the pregnancy. To think it was halfway through already... "What is your purpose here?"

"I finally tracked down one of Evenian's letters." Nalice leaned her hip against the wall. "It did not end well."

"Where is it?" Katrana turned to her.

"Ash," said Nalice. "I caught the drake who delivers the letters bringing it to him, but Evenian caught me skulking about, taunted me and then burned it. But it is confirmed, now. Romathis works against us. Evenian said so himself, but he did not say anything we did not already know. Those letters are burned, mark my words."

_Curses_. What else was there to do? "And yet, Romathis has not done anything." Katrana frowned. "I wonder why."

"For you to make your own move, no doubt." Nalice's bored eyes slid across the chaotic room. "It will be quite some time before your plan is complete."

... Plan? What plan? Though only a fool would say those words aloud. "Indeed," said Katrana. "But do not stop looking, he may have merely hidden them."

"It has been _months_." Nalice sighed. "I am insulted that you think my attention span so short that I would wander off if you don't keep me entertained with wild goose chases." She huffed. "I understand you must bide your time before Fordragon is killed, Broodmother, do not misunderstand me. And longer still before Prince Anduin can meet an unfortunate accident." She laced her fingers together. "Perhaps Romathis will make his move _after_ you are in control of the Alliance, though that may not be wise. When you are Regent Lady of Stormwind, or Queen with Anduin's death, then you will have the entire Alliance at your disposal if he should anger you."

That... was convenient. "I imagine that he has his own traps laid already." Katrana played along, keeping her expression schooled. But she thought, _what?_

Titans. She'd forgotten. She was so close to the goal that had brought her to Stormwind _years_ ago. Absolute control of the Alliance. And with the pregnancy, with her new relationship with Fordragon, with Mandy's illness, she'd _forgotten_.

Gods, not only did the child steal away her senses, it focused on making her _stupid_, too.

But... kill Fordragon? He didn't need to die. She could control him, but...

She glanced at the staff that laid by the door. More and more lately it had become difficult to keep her secret. Every now and then Bolvar put two and two together, relating Onyxia in his head with Katrana Prestor, and every time she did she had to power the amulet and steer his thoughts away from it, erase his conclusions. Though she cast spells to deliberately keep him ignorant, it did not always work.

The more she used the amulet, the closer the bond, the more he heard voices. The more he heard voices, the more suspicious he got, the more she had to use the staff...

It was a slippery slope. Fordragon had to die, one day, or else become a complete thrall to her magic. But the staff had only so much magic, and it had been used so often that it and the medallion had a bond just as tight as her and Fordragon's. She felt it when Fordragon was far away, not just because she could check on him through their bond but because the staff grew strained when it was too far from his amulet.

"_Romathis_ must have kept his letters," said Katrana. "If only we could discover what he had planned! What was he thinking, allowing Evenian to show his hand?"

"He can afford it," said Nalice, languidly. "He has an army at his disposal, remember. And the Alliance still mistrusts you. When you are Queen, you shall have to remedy that."

Queen. Nalice thought she aimed to be _queen_, but Fordragon could not die. He'd never done anything wrong. And yet, if her magic failed, she would have no choice...

"But how will we infiltrate Blackrock?" Katrana frowned, moving to sit behind her desk. Strange, how only a month before she had been standing in here with two Horas and the Suicide Squad. "He will recognise your scent on sight and knows you are my ally, you understand."

"But we have a way around that." Nalice took a seat in front of her, her back straight. "I train Samatha every evening, you understand. The whelp continues to whine that the priests will not let her in the infirmary after closing, but what is her loss is my gain. When I don't instruct her in combat I teach her a little... magic."

"She's a rogue." Katrana's fingers traced the grooves in the oak surface.

"That does not make her incapable." Nalice leaned back. "Anyone can be taught magic. We located the scent-changing spell in an old tome and have devised a similar version in which scent can be removed entirely, which will be convenient for..."

Katrana stared at her. "You would send a _human_ to infiltrate Blackrock?"

"Why ever not?" Nalice rose her eyebrows. "It will take her some time before she can cast the spell reliably. By then, the child will be dead and she will be despairing enough she will need purpose. I say we give her that purpose, and kill two whelps with one stone." She drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair. "I have been educating her on our ways, honing her combat skills and preparing her so that when we reveal ourselves, she will serve us. I believe she already suspects."

"Do not tell her _everything!_"

"I am no fool." Nalice snorted. "I only teach her knowledge which we will not regret losing. The _real_ education will come later."

"She will not know her way around Blackrock Spire," said Katrana.

"She will, when the time comes," said Nalice. "She is a future dragonsworn. My family has always trained dragonsworn well. She will do what she has to do."

"You?" Katrana hooted. "Have faith in a mortal?"

"No," said Nalice. "But — "

"If it is truly that easy to sneak in and out, why do _you_ not go?"

"Because you cannot train another Dragonsworn if I die," said Nalice. "We cannot use Ebonaria, she has her own duties, and Serinar would refuse to do it. No. It must be Samantha."

_It must be Samantha._

Katrana went cold, sitting back in her chair. "The Bronze..."

"Hmm?"

"She told me that there was something Samantha had to do, and only Samantha," she said. "That was why the child had to die. If she lived, Samantha would not do this task."

But where was this mysterious Eduard? The man who would hate it if Katrana did the task instead?

"Then there you go." Nalice straightened. "She will go into Blackrock when the time is right."

Katrana sat back. Nalice met her eyes, but there was a pensive crease in her brow that stirred uneasy feelings within her. "What are you withholding from me?"

"You have a job to do," said Nalice. "I must not distract with a false alarm. Perhaps later."

"Allow me to decide for myself."

"Broodmother." Nalice drummed her fingers on Katrana's desk. "Perhaps you have heard reports lately about the Blasted Lands."

"Like the rest of the kingdom, they whine for reinforcements." Katrana shrugged and frowned. "I always make sure those reports never make it to Fordragon. Nethergarde usually don't whine as much as they have this year, though..."

"That is because demons have been congregating," said Nalice. "I visit the Blasted Lands whenever I come to the Eastern Kingdoms, and when I have not had orders from you I... pay a visit. One thing I have noticed as of late is that the amount of demons has increased within the Blasted Lands."

The world went still. All she heard was her own breath, the hoot of an owl outside the window and the crashing of her heart in her ears. "The Dark Portal...?"

"Is closed," said Nalice. "But I have intercepted reports from Nethergarde and Darkshire that speak of demon sightings. Those creatures work to prepare for something."

This could only mean one thing. It would change _everything_...

War would erupt. There was no doubt there were still orcs on the other side of that Dark Portal, orcs who would fight on the side of the Burning Legion. Demons, demons _everywhere_, who had overrun Hellfire Peninsula. And...

The Black Dragonflight. Coming _home_ at long, long last.

Onyxia's eyes rose to meet Nalice's. She had a question that sounded too hopeful, too weak, but she voiced it anyway. "Do you think there are survivors?"

Nalice smirked, and in it, Onyxia saw her own hope reflected in it. "My mother would not die easily."

No, Maleficent wouldn't. The strongest of her brother's mates, Maleficent herself had taught Onyxia a lot of her magic. Maleficent was the only dragon not related to Deathwing who could have challenged her and Romathis for leadership and won. Fortunately, being on the wrong side of the Dark Portal solved that problem before it started. "She would not protect the others."

"She would not protect those who could not protect themselves," said Nalice. "But she would protect the Flight as a whole. She would hide Ravenia's eggs, protect _them_. Perhaps she may have even taken on a new mate and had children of her own..."

"In a war zone? Doubtful." Sabel. What about _Sabel_?

"They had twenty years," said Nalice. "Maleficent would have won against the gronn eventually."

Truly? Onyxia had heard stories of towering beasts with hands big enough to swallow a human, strong enough to throw a full-grown dragon a hundred yards, and resistant to dragon fire...

She had to say it. "And your father?"

As she expected, Nalice snorted. "_Him_? Eventually his time would run out. If the gronn didn't kill him by the time the Dark Portal closed, they would have killed him not long after. He is weak, and there were many dragons so many more times stronger than him who perished. The idea of _his_ survival would be ludicrous."

-o-O-o-

Long after Nalice's departure, Onyxia took a walk. She slipped into the gardens and looked to the stars, scattered across the dark canvas above her. Infinite. Immeasurable.

Which was Draenor's sun? Could she even see it from here, or was it the wrong time of year? Was it even visible from Azeroth?

For all she knew, the demons had planned something else. Perhaps they fought to open the portal as she thought, but that did not mean they would _succeed_. She drew in a steady breath.

Hope, happiness, complacency. Three fatal emotions looked down upon by the Flight she'd all but shed. All three of them led to disappointment. One should not smile; smiling would invite contentedness which led to complacency. And any dragon that found complacency was honour-bound to purge it. Complacency weakened the Flight as a whole.

But she did not fight the hope inside her. _Sabel_. Her beloved brother. She might even see him again!

If anyone knew how to survive, it was Sabel. Sabel had been a _karkunashj_, a _cockroach_ that never died. He survived, though rarely thanks to strength or courage. He'd survived ten thousand years in a bloodthirsty Flight where every single dragon with a name knew his physical weakness, and attacked it first without mercy. Everyone had wanted to be the one to relieve the Dragonflight of its burden, and he survived every single one of them.

But could he survive the gronn?

Now, his survival was no longer a dream. Reality would arrive, in one way or another, and for the first time in twenty years she stopped to consider, would Sabel _truly_ have survived? When the strongest warriors had been defeated first?

She would not have. Why would he?

But she clung to hope like a lifeline, like a _human_. For hours she picked out stars from the heavens, drunk with the hope that flooded her veins. One day she would be out of here, one day she could have _him_ back. Somewhere, out there in the Twisting Nether, drifted the shattered world of Outland. And on it...

Either Sabel would come home with weary eyes, changed forever by his experiences, or...

Or she would find his bones laying where he had died, abandoned and alone, just as he had lived. For millennia he had postponed his own death, fighting tooth and nail, keeping his head down and hiding for survival. Only the gronn could make his body give up his soul at last...

_Please,_ she thought, surrounded by the gentle whispering of bushes and the distant calls of bats as her body tugged at her with fatigue at last. _Come home, brother._

-o-O-o-

He did not love Katrana. Not yet.

He held the beautiful woman in high esteem, but she always stood distant, cold, and he walked on eggshells around her. Underneath her anger and irritability she was as fragile as glass, though he knew the idea would injure her pride before she shrank away into denial.

All these years, people had called Katrana Prestor a fearless politician. As a veteran of the Second War, he scoffed. There were no fearless men or women, only courageous ones. But now he knew they'd been speaking the truth.

Only those who never knew fear were the first to hide when confronted. And Katrana Prestor hid a _lot_. She withdrew from him, she shrank from his affection, and though he knew she cared for him he understood it scared her. He could almost _feel_ it.

Which was why he found himself walking along the passage twenty minutes after they were due to meet Brother Bronzewing and the rest. He knocked at the back of the book case, but nobody answered. With a creak of treacherous hinges he stepped onto plush carpet, a reluctant invader into her sanctum.

He found her in the bathroom, the door open, buttoning a blouse, a glazed-over frown marring her pale features. "Kat?" he said tentatively. She blinked and glanced up, but at the mirror, not at him. "If you've changed your mind, I understand."

"No, no." Her frown deepened, but she still did not meet his eyes as she finished the buttons. "What time is it?"

"Twenty past."

She cursed in Dwarvish. "Forgive me, I was distracted."

"Kat." He touched her chin, ignored her flinch as he turned her face to meet his eyes. "If you've changed your mind, say it now."

"Of course not." He never thought he'd be so relieved to see her fiery temper. "I do not lie when I say I was distracted. The child..."

"Is it alright?"

"Yes, but..." She looked down on herself. "I never realised with the clothing I wear, but it is... appearing. I can hide it for a few months yet…"

He touched her cheek. If only she could _relax_ around him, if only he could get past that wall she drew up around herself. He ached for her to feel so threatened she distanced herself. "It will be alright," he murmured, and then glanced down. "You're beginning to show?"

Why did she seem to retreat further into herself when he said that? As if it was something to be embarrassed over? "Yes," she said shortly. "I understand it takes some time for first-time mothers' pregnancies to show, but not ten minutes ago I noticed while I dressed that my stomach had swelled. I hardly keep an eagle eye on my waistline. It came as a surprise."

She flinched again when the back of his hand brushed across her stomach, and he sighed inwardly. He shouldn't have touched her without her permission, but he couldn't help but reach out and pull her into a hug, closing his arms around her in what he _hoped_ was a comforting gesture. She was only an inch shorter than him, so he rested his chin on her shoulder, feeling her pressed against him.

When she did not relax, he reluctantly let go. Why couldn't he do _anything_ right by her? He only wanted her to feel safe around him! He put on a jovial tone, grinning at her. "Sooner or later the young one will be throwing parties in there, you realise, and you won't get a moment's rest!"

The corner of her lip twitched, but she did not smile. "Solitary parties, I hope. If I am with two, we are in trouble."

"Bloody hell, Kat, one miniature version of you is enough, let alone twins," he teased. She still did not smile. He frowned. "Kat." He took her hands, squeezing in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Inside his frustration simmered. What could he _do_? It felt as if he beat his fists against a wall every time he talked to her! "We will be alright. I want this to work. I want you to be happy, and I want to be the best husband you could ask for." He smiled at her sadly. "Please, do not fear me. You have _nothing_ to fear from me, Kat."

"I fear nothing." The response sounded automatic. "I only regret I lost track of time. Please accept my apologies."

"Nonsense." He entwined their fingers. He had to make this work, he _had_ to. He could not rush it. She would come to trust him, in time...

_But almost half the year had gone_. If she did not trust him now, how long would it _take?_

_It will take as long as she needs_, he reprimanded himself. He was not entitled to her trust. When he received it, it would be hard-won, and well earned. He brushed his lips over the backs of her fingers. It would be alright. He would _make_ it alright. He would keep them both together. For the little one's sake, if not their own. She would come to open up one day, he had to have faith.

_You have long fingers_, said Onyxia. _Is that not attributed to artists? Perhaps you were meant to be an artist..._

_Don't be ridiculous_, said the Taint.

"Do you need a moment?" he said.

"No." She met his eyes at last, cold eyes determined. She was hiding again. Whenever she put on that determined mask, it meant she was hiding from her true emotions. What could he do to help her heal? To help her feel _safe?_ "Let us proceed."

"That's my girl," he murmured, and put an arm around her waist.

-o-O-o-

"'Ey!" said Rivers. "Does this mean I can call you Bolvar now? 'Highlord' is even stuffier than 'Captain' was. No offence. Though I must say I prefer your last name to your first —"

"Lady Pres — Katrana! You look lovely. Mandy says hi. Well, she doesn't, but — "

"Auntie Kat!"

"Alright, alright." Brother Bronzewing smirked. "By the Titans, this is hardly a party and you three are making a racket already."

Before today, Bolvar had never seen Adam Rivers in casual clothing. He lounged against the wall in black pants and a shirt with the top button undone, which had the unfortunate effect of drawing Sam's gaze more than once. Bolvar hid a smile. If Sam felt happy enough to look a man's way, then it meant the little one was doing better than normal.

But then, who knew? Was the light in her eyes forced, was her smile too bright? Did she seem happy only because she strangled herself with it?

"I suppose this means I'm best man, huh?" said Adam Rivers. "Sorry, I forgot your ring. Do you have a ring? Because I forgot it."

"Rivers!" Kat sounded exasperated.

Rivers flashed her a brilliant grin.

Suddenly, as if some message had passed between them, both politician and guard cringed. Even Bronzewing blushed and looked at the floor, shuffling in place.

… What?

Bolvar raised an eyebrow and looked to Sam, but her victorious smirk raised more questions than answered.

Did he _miss_ something? He bit back a sigh, ignoring it. "No rings. There is little point until Anduin is old enough that we can announce our marriage publicly." Not to mention _buy_ wedding rings without earning a raised eyebrow from the jeweller... even Katrana Prestor was recognisable, these days.

"Don't worry," said Anduin. "I'll tell them where they can shove it if someone asks me to fire you."

"Anduin!" Bolvar tried not to laugh.

"What, you want me to?" Anduin stuck out his tongue.

"He was bouncing off the walls when I took him off Miss Perin." Sam rolled her eyes with a smile. "He's excited."

"He's standing right here!" said Anduin.

A small throat-clear from Bronzewing set the room at attention. "Perhaps we could begin?" The high elf clasped his hands.

Bolvar took both Katrana's hands, and offered her a reassuring smile.

_This is embarrassing,_ Onyxia quipped. _They are staring._

_They want to see you uncomfortable,_ said the Taint. _They judge you. They think less of you. They —_

_You are the worst guest on Azeroth. Remove yourself from Bolvar's head immediately._

_Why don't you _both_ get out of my head?_ Bolvar told them.

Wait. No talking to voices. He resisted the urge to sigh. _Kat's marrying a nutcase, if a harmless one._ And that had to be the only reason it didn't scare him anymore. _By the gods, one of these days she's going to catch me laughing at one of you..._

At least Onyxia made amusing conversation. He could only picture the look on the _real_ Onyxia's face if she discovered an insane human thought she lived in his head.

_Of course I'm the real Onyxia_, said Onyxia. _Do you really think any other dragon would deign to live in your head? It's a disgrace in here._

_Of course not_, he said. _If you were the real Onyxia, you wouldn't tell me you were!_

_Ah, but what if I'm using reverse psychology?_

_I don't think the real Onyxia is such a smartass._ It was official, he was a _lunatic_. He had to stop himself smiling. At least the voices in his head amused him.

"Today we are gathered to witness the union of Lady Katrana Prestor and Highlord Bolvar Fordragon in holy matrimony," said Horan Bronzewing. In front of Bolvar, Katrana's lowered eyes watched their joined hands. He squeezed encouragingly. "This is not a decision to be made lightly, nor in jest. To be bound together for the rest of your lives, you will suffer hardships and great trials together with the highs and joy of married life. With the good comes the bad, and with the bad comes the good. From this day forward you shall be joined companions, standing with one another in the face of all that life throws at you."

_I wonder_, said Onyxia, _if she is saying anything meaningful, or if it's just typical of what a priest should say._

_Listen, I know they're pretty girly, but that elf's a man,_ said Bolvar.

_No, she's not._

_Yes, she — shut up, I'm getting married!_

He heard a snicker inside his head.

"You shall grow to love and appreciate one another more and more each day, with all your strengths and faults. Listen to one another as no one else will, be there for one another as no one else will, and forgive one another your trespasses and faults. Put aside grudges for the sake of your mutual goals," Bronzewing continued. "See the world as the other does, and expand each other's horizons, and you will learn and grow together and only ever closer."

_Every word she speaks is an enigma, a possible warning. Perhaps sometimes she speaks with hollow words, and watches in amusement as I glean meaning from nothing._

He ignored her.

"Bolvar Fordragon," said Bronzewing. "Do you take Katrana Prestor from this day forward as your wife, with all her strengths and her weaknesses, with all the good and the bad, and vow to stand beside her with a commitment that will never fail?"

He squeezed her hands. "I do."

_So clichéd,_ said Onyxia.

_It's not a cliché, it's tradition! And I'm pretty sure real dragons aren't this snarky._

He felt a flicker of her amusement. _If only you had met my brother, for he is a hundred times worse!_

_Ah, the voice in my head has a family now? Please don't move him in, it's getting crowded in here._

"Katrana Prestor," said Bronzewing. "Do you take Bolvar Fordragon from this day forward as your husband, with all his strengths and his weaknesses, with all the good and the bad, and vow to stand beside him with a commitment that will never fail?"

_What difference does one more lie make, in the end?_ Onyxia sobered as Katrana spoke. "I do."

"Then with these mortal eyes as witnesses for the earth, and I as witness for the Light, I now pronounce you husband and wife," said Bronzewing. "You may now kiss the bride."

_What, while they're watching?_ He felt Onyxia's horror.

Very quietly, behind him, Anduin's tiny voice went, "Ew."

He bit down on the insides of his cheeks to stop from laughing. Instead, he cupped Katrana's cheek and stepped closer. It had been far too long since he had kissed her last, because she kept distant. Still, even with these witnesses, he hesitated. If he made her uncomfortable —

It was to his surprise that she placed a hand on the back of his neck and pressed her lips to his. They felt hot under his touch as his eyes closed, his arms wrapping around her waist as he took in her scent and taste, feeling her warmth in his arms. Polite clapping burst around them before he let her go, smiling softly.

His new wife returned it in a brief flicker.

"Welcome to the family, eh?" Once the couple awkwardly stepped away from one another, Adam Rivers clapped Bolvar on the back.

"Family?" Bolvar rose an eyebrow. "You're not secretly related to her, are you?"

Katrana snorted. _His wife._ "No."

"She's something of a motherly figure for the Squad." Adam smirked. "We don't really fit in here. She took a few of us under her wing back in the day."

What? He'd been their bloody captain once, before they called themselves the Suicide Squad, and he'd never noticed! "Oh, really?"

"Indeed," said Katrana. Then, "What is that?"

"Cake!" said Samantha. She bounced up and down on the spot. Her eyes glistened with tears, but if they were of happiness from witnessing the union, Bolvar would eat his plate boots. "There's a new bloke in the kitchens. His name's Quinn. He bakes some pretty good cake."

Adam shuffled on the spot. Katrana's eyebrow ascended. Bolvar couldn't help but smile. Once upon a time the expression annoyed him, but nowadays he found it pleasing. "I hope he doesn't know for what occasion."

"Nah, of course not," said Samantha, taking a knife into her hands and offering it to Katrana. "Okay, it's not much of a wedding cake. But it's still the honour of the bride and groom to cut it, isn't it?"

"I recall." Katrana's voice was a low murmur as she inspected the knife. Bolvar took her hand in his.

_I wish she was not so unhappy. _For the first time, Bolvar spoke to Onyxia without prompting. _Do you think she will be alright, that she will relax, in time?_

But, as the two of them cut the cake, Onyxia said nothing.

-o-O-o-

After the mockery of a ceremony, they took a walk around Stormwind, Bolvar in his cloak and hood and Katrana in hers. They were somewhat out of place for late spring, and Katrana's long, flowing clothes still disguised her form easily. The two of them occasionally ducked into a bookshop if they passed one, and through Katrana's trepidation the mood lightened as Bolvar commented, "Look at all the loot we've found!"

Katrana hoped to stay out as long as possible, but when dusk brought with it a wind that cut through her clothes and made her shiver, Bolvar insisted on returning to the Keep. "I'm sure Sam will be happy to keep the rest of the cake," he said.

"If Anduin doesn't fight her for it. She will be back with her young one, however."

Katrana forced herself not to twist and play with her chain as they returned. They parted ways in the residential wing, but a few moments after Katrana returned to her new study she heard Bolvar rummage around her bookcases after coming through the passage. She smothered a smile.

She stoked the fire and attacked her growing stack of paperwork. Paperwork, the bane of any bureaucrat, but tonight it was a blessing. With the amount of work she had to do, she'd work long into the night. She lit a few candles on the edge of her desk, careful to keep the papers away from them, and picked up a quill.

With luck, she would drop to sleep on the desk in the early hours of the morning.

She ignored the churning of her stomach. It was a symptom of an illness of the mind that dragons were too strong to suffer, no matter how human she may be. No _proper_ dragon allowed anxiety to overcome them. They pushed it away, or went straight through it, and —

_I'm too afraid to push through it._

_Through what?_ she heard Bolvar think in the other room. Then: _Shut up, Onyxia, damn it._

_No_, she said in Bolvar's mind, playfully. It was amusing to provoke the human, and released some of the tension. _Make me._

_I'm trying to be sane, here!_

_Good luck with that._

She felt a mental roll of the eyes from him as he began to pace. Her tension bled through to him, and he walked it out. She couldn't hear him, couldn't see him, yet was able to count every single step. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Turn. One. Two. Three —_

_Calm down_, she told herself. Her quill scratched against the parchment as she wrote, but focus eluded her.

She had to get it over with. It was inevitable. The human was her mate in everything but —

_I don't want to_, said Onyxia.

_Do you ever shut up?_ Fordragon sounded annoyed.

_I'm scared of you._

_You're always scared of me!_

Annoyed, Katrana thought, _Stop bickering!_

_You started it — damn it!_

Kat pushed a fist to her mouth, trying not to laugh at the exchange in the next room. She heard the muffled sigh of annoyance from Fordragon, and what might have been the whisper of pages.

The candles burned low by the time Bolvar appeared at the door, and Onyxia's voice rose to a panicked clamour within him that Katrana was helpless to silence. To his credit, Bolvar only twitched slightly when he said, "I'm going to bed." He arched an eyebrow. "Are you going to work all night?"

"I have a lot to do." She nodded at the stack of paper on her desk. Nice and high. "I have been sleeping far too much as of late and allowed it to overwhelm me."

She didn't admit that she hadn't done as much as usual the last few days and _let_ the work build up again...

_Don't want to, shut up, don't want to!_ Onyxia flailed.

It was hard to hide from fear when it screamed aloud.

He peered at her with barely a flinch. "Is everything alright, Kat?"

_Go away, I don't want you to touch me, don't touch me!_

With a breath of magic, she turned Bolvar's thoughts from pondering Onyxia's panic. Katrana ran her long fingers through her hair. "I have a lot of work to do," she murmured.

"You're not answering the question, love." Bolvar's tone sounded sadly amused. "And you're not looking at me either. Kat, do you honestly think I'm going to drag you out of here by the hair and ravish you?"

She twitched. He frowned, and continued. "Did I hurt you, last time?" he said, his voice soft and low. "Did I do something you didn't want me to do? You always act scared of me. Do you want me to sleep in my quarters tonight?"

"No." She had to keep him close by.

_You have a purpose,_ said the Taint. _Don't forget it. Anything, for the Black Dragonflight._

_Ignore him,_ she said in her jovial, Onyxian voice in Bolvar's head. How easy it was to fake cheerfulness. _He thinks I should take you if she won't! Sorry, but no thank you._

Almost imperceptibly, Bolvar wrinkled his nose. _Thank gods for that. No offence._

Remembering the words reminiscent of those spoken by Shaw not long ago, Katrana frowned. The Taint was right. She had to minimise use of the amulet as best as she could, and while nothing recently had come up requiring manipulation within court, she could not afford to alienate him. She ran her hand through her hair again. "Forgive me, Bolvar. I am not used to... this."

"It doesn't bother me that you don't want me touching you, Kat," said Bolvar. "Just don't lie, alright? You can trust me. I won't ever hurt you."

"I have work," she murmured, cringing away from the awkward atmosphere. This was unbecoming of a Broodmother.

Once upon a time she had everything under control. Once upon a time she suffered no embarrassment, no shame, only anger. Where was her anger now? Where was _Onyxia_? Not the gibbering part of her that took refuge in Bolvar's mind, not the version of her with attitude and sarcastic commentary she used to keep Bolvar off her scent, but the proud _dragon_ she used to be?

She wasn't dragon anymore. Only a mockery.

She sighed. "No, I — I don't feel comfortable. I'm sorry."

She heard an annoyed sigh, so close she flinched. "Kat, damn it, I wasn't asking for..." She felt lips against her forehead, and looked up. When had Bolvar stepped so close? She hadn't heard his footsteps against the carpet, hadn't even heard his breathing as she used to be able to when her body was not a vessel for a parasite. "Good night, Kat. Don't work all night, you need sleep." He touched her cheek, a ghost of contact that calmed her.

She nodded quietly, and as the door clicked closed behind him she felt his annoyance and anger.

Gods — he was angry she wouldn't let him touch her?

_Don't touch me!_ Onyxia screamed, loud enough even Katrana flinched. If only her subconscious would shut up! _Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me!_

_Shush_, said Bolvar.

_Don't touch, don't touch —_

_I'm not going to bloody touch you, now shut up! Or her, for that matter. Calm down._

But Onyxia continued to whimper and curl up in a tight, protective ball in Bolvar's mind.

That was the part of her that needed Sabel. Sabel could drag that fear out, the deep parts of her she'd never knew existed, and rebuild her stronger than before. She'd not known it existed, she'd hid it under denial and anger and pride. But with the connection the way it was, she could hide it from herself, but not from Bolvar. Bolvar heard it all.

She couldn't even bring herself to feel shame for it. She only felt numb. She sighed, setting down her quill, suddenly unable to write another word or bring herself to read the Common script in front of her.

Perhaps it was only the Taint that made her ashamed and angry. Ever since she'd heard it, so many thoughts that she'd once been sure were hers had been revealed to belong to _it_.

_Say something enough times_, said Sabel, _and you'll start to believe it._

Was that how the Taint worked? Did it plant thoughts that grew like a cancer?

_It is not even magic_, she thought. _Just psychology._

Had the Taint overcome the Black Dragonflight so easily?

-o-O-o-

For gods' sakes, did Kat think so little of him she really believed she should be afraid of him, that she couldn't speak her truth to him? For fel's sake, he hadn't even been _thinking_ of sex until he realised how quiet she'd been. He wanted things to go slowly, to build up a solid foundation, and she hid in her damn study as if he was some kind of sick, twisted bastard who'd —

_No!_ said Onyxia. _Don't touch me!_

_I'm not going to fucking touch you!_ He closed his eyes and calmed himself. It felt _violating_, that Onyxia tried to speak for Katrana all the time. _Listen, if you're going to make me insane, could you at least be insane _consistently_?_

_No,_ came Onyxia's snarkier tone. _If I was consistent you'd be perfectly sane. Only, you're not._

For fuck's sake, when were these voices going to go _away_? Ignoring them hadn't made them disappear, but... he wasn't insane, it wasn't as if the voices made him do anything. Onyxia's was simply a voice that came and went, a vocal, fearful little thing that sometimes grew annoyed or upset. Unlike the somewhat terrifying Taint, in "Onyxia"'s more lucid moments she was even entertaining.

Which only raised _more_ questions about his sanity. Great. He wasn't about to tell anyone. Even Katrana would have him committed.

_That's a good idea_, said Onyxia. _If I drove you insane she could take over Stormwind. But that... would be cruel._

_Shut up_, he told her, and flopped into bed.

Katrana had nothing to fear from him. But what if she did? What if he lost his grip and became dangerous to both her and his son or daughter?

_You will not,_ she said quietly.

_How reassuring_, he commented dryly. Onyxia said nothing.

He woke up in the darkness what felt like an instant later to hear Onyxia making another racket in his head, and the low snickers of the Taint. He almost cursed aloud, before realising he wasn't alone. He was halfway to reaching for his dagger before he realised — "Oh. You've come to bed. I forgot you lived here."

Onyxia burst into hysterical laughter in his head.

"Please resist the urge to stab me, I merely wish to sleep."

"Uh. Sorry about that." He yawned, curling back up in the blankets, willing sleep to descend upon him once again. "I'm so used to sleeping alone."

The bed dipped under her weight as she slipped into it, her white nightgown stark in the darkness.

He said, "C'mere." Before Kat could protest, he curled his body around her and draped an arm over her. She stiffened. He pressed a quick kiss to the back of her neck, whispered "Goodnight," and prayed.

_Disgusting, allowing a mortal to touch you_, snarled the Taint._ You're no longer dragon. Where is your pride, where is your fury? Where is your —_

_Shut up_, said Onyxia.

_And that,_ Bolvar commented, grateful that at least _one_ of his headvoices was making sense, _has got to be the most logical thing you've said all year._

He waited. If she didn't relax, he'd leave her be, he'd give her space. He lay there, eyes closed, pretending to sleep, pretending it was nothing. She reminded him of a fearful animal, and you never reassured an animal; that only told them there was something to be afraid of.

When she did not calm, he almost pushed away, but then her rigid form slowly melted into relaxation and her breath deepened. But not quite enough for her to be asleep.

Silence. Blessed, blessed silence.

_There is a perfectly rational explanation for this, _Onyxia said suddenly._ The human body appreciates physical contact, especially a pregnant female when in proximity with her mate. Contact nurtures the bond between female and mate and satisfies the human body's need for companionship whilst providing the pleasant sensation of shared warmth —_

When Bolvar bit down hard on the inside of his cheeks to stifle his amusement, Onyxia stopped for a long moment, before her mortified voice piped up, _Stop laughing at me!_

-o-O-o-

When the hooded figure closed the door with an annoyed sigh, muttering in another language, Sam said, "I'd think that after the first eleven times you snooped around in there, you'd have learned that whatever you're looking for isn't there. Give up, already."

The figure stiffened in the darkness. Sam felt two eyes fix on her, two ears listen to her voice, a nose sensitive to a scent she never detected before now tracing her.

Sam shrugged. "How did you kill him? What did you do with Stephen Fletcher, and what did he have that you want?"

No answer.

"I know who you are," said Sam. "I know _what_ you are. I don't know why you're here, but I can guess. I only wonder what took you so long to appear after that dragonspawn drama when Mandy was born, but, then, Lady Prestor's been here much longer than you. Is she really your aunt? Or is that a cover story?"

"My," said Nalice's voice, "perhaps you are not a complete fool after all."

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Thank you to everyone for their support and patience! Back to regular updates now._

**_Kai:_**_ Sabel is a very /facepalm kind of person, isn't he? Haha. Thank you, RL has picked up!_

**_Ariaelyne:_**_ Thank you. :) I hope it never gets that long though!_

**_Zeitlos:_**_ Aww, I'm glad I made you feel a bit better! I hope it's picked up for you._

**_KyreanNightblood:_**_ I love exploring dragon culture, especially as Blizz barely goes into detail about it. I don't think they'd be like humans at all. It's so fun to write about them!_


	34. From One Side to Another

_**A/N:**__ Building my buffer at last, so have this a day early. My poor beta's going to find herself overworked if I keep this productivity up!_

_Thank you to __**Coincidencless**__ for their beta work and wisdom, including advice that my story should not smelt orcs into bars. ... Yeah, that was an embarrassing mistake, you don't wanna know._

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

* * *

"Or maybe you were too stupid to cover your tracks," said Sam.

"The females of my line do not possess foolishness." Nalice threw her hood back to reveal a dangerous glint in her narrowed eyes. "Though I am curious, what was it that gave it away?"

"Smiling is frowned upon in the Black Dragonflight, is it not?" Sam shrugged a shoulder. "It's been several little hints, here and there, but what gave it away was the embarrassment of Katrana and Adam Rivers when Rivers grinned at her. And you're a nasty piece of work, if you don't mind me saying."

"And I assume this is the part where you blackmail me?" Up went Nalice's eyebrows.

"Only an idiot would," said Sam.

"But you must have a death wish to confront me with this," said Nalice. "You have always known I am powerful, but my power runs deeper than you can imagine. And yet, I know you better than to call you a fool... unless you desire to prove me wrong."

"I'm not afraid of death," said Sam. "But if you're going to kill me, I'd rather you waited until my own little girl passed away."

"Or," said Nalice. "I could kill her instead, if you wish."

Sam clamped down on horrified instinct, and put on a blank face. "You would be saving her a slow, agonising death."

Nalice paused. "I cannot believe this," she said. "You are _mental_. Perhaps even Black Flight material."

"That's what you want, isn't it?" said Sam. "There's been a reason you've been telling me so much about them."

"Come with me." Nalice gestured for her to follow. "The patrol will make it around the corner in two minutes and they would want to know why we insist on discussing dragons in front of a missing man's apartment."

Sam fell into step beside Nalice, her body ready to bolt at a moment's notice. To her surprise, instead of hostility, only calm emanated from the dragon. Sam shivered.

Nalice nodded to any guards they passed. "Pretend you have nothing to fear," Nalice murmured to her, "and they assume you are supposed to be here. That trick is older than the hills, and I _do_ know how old they are."

"How old _are_ you both?"

"Six thousand. Lady Prestor is ten thousand."

Sam chewed on her lip. Once upon a time Lady Prestor had been as bad as Nalice, but she was rather kind for a dragon...

Did Bolvar have something to do with it? A dragon in love with a human, how amusing. But then, he _was_ Highlord... did she use him?

But who cared? Bolvar had looked aside when she lost her job, Bolvar had done nothing when Norris slandered her. The day he came in to check on her when Mandy was born Sam had longed to tear into him, but to be rude to one's boss was... not wise.

But once Mandy was gone, it wouldn't matter anymore if he fired her.

Nalice stopped them after they had walked for ten minutes. Sam took in the massive, oaken double doors ahead of them. "The training room," she said. "So you're going to kill me. Plenty of space for that."

Nalice took the padlock in her left hand, the other swirling with blue magic as her brow furrowed with focus. The enormous padlock clicked, and Nalice took the chains from the doors.

"How did you do that?" Sam's eyes widened. "I thought telekinesis was impossible!"

"'Tis but a class of magic that few live long enough to wield." Nalice pushed the door open. "It takes hundreds of years of practice and dedication. My mother was an expert, but alas, I can only use it for minor things. My father uses his abilities for medical purposes... have you ever rummaged around someone's insides with magic? He has. Do come in, Samantha."

There was only the faint light from the doorway to see by, casting faint shadows on the windowless walls. Invisible things moved at the corner of Samantha's eyes in the grainy darkness. She made out Nalice's eyes in the dark, widened as hers were to drink in what little light there was. Perhaps dragons did not see much better without light.

"You are not afraid?" Nalice crossed her arms.

"Of course I am." Sam smiled at her, muffling her fear as Nalice hissed. "I'm terrified."

"No dragon admits to fear."

"I'm not a dragon." Sam rocked on her heels. Her heartbeat roared in her ears.

"And what of your daughter?" said Nalice. "Are you not attached to your offspring?"

"Mandy is going to die," said Sam. Nalice rose an eyebrow in a sceptical expression. "I will be there. The only thing that will change is on which side of the mortal divide I am. I can either say goodbye to her... or I can say hello. But you know what, I won't let you kill me. You've trained me a lot lately, and I have the feeling it's for something big, and I'm confident."

Nalice sneered. "What kind of fool are you? You are arrogant, complacent — "

"I know I can beat you," said Sam. "The worst thing you can do is hurt me. Go on." She grinned, lifting up her chin, and just as she had expected Nalice froze in a snarl. "I'll kick your _ass_."

Nalice pushed up a sleeve, her flinty eyes focused on Sam. "I will show you, you little mortal _rat_..."

Sam took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

She didn't even feel the first strike.

-o-O-o-

" — a bit of concussion, but nothing terrible, I've managed to patch it up for her. Nalice, she said?"

Sam swam through a haze, words flowing in and out of her as she struggled to translate them into concepts. Her head hurt. A _lot_.

A familiar voice said, "Yes, I am confident I heard Nalice. The woman beat her and left her there."

Warmth enveloped her. Orange light cast flickering shadows on the curtains around her. She smelt the acrid tang of antiseptic, and the flowery aroma of a potion.

"It's lucky you found her," said Horan Bronzewing's voice. "A hard blow to the head can be fatal. You're good with restoration magic, are you a healer?"

"Ah, no, I was a Druid of the Claw."

"What in the name of the Titans happened in there? After lights out, nobody's supposed to be there."

"I don't know." Kair sighed. "I have been growing more and more disturbed by Nalice's... odd relationship with Samantha Inkweaver." Sam's jaw clenched. _Sam_, damn it, Kair, not Samantha! Was it so hard to remember? "I do hope she presses charges."

"Kair, they may have a volatile relationship, but as far as I can see it's doing Sam more good than — "

"_She was half-dead on the floor!_ Nalice _left_ her there — "

"And you do not know she didn't run to summon help."

Horan. Old Common for "hour".

Bronzewing. No explanation needed.

Four so far, including Adam Rivers. Maybe more? Wait, five. She forgot Jettion, who was rather friendly for a Black whelp. Most Black whelps were hostile creatures that bit anything that came too close.

"You should leave me to my work," said Bronzewing. "Another priest will likely eject you if they catch you dawdling. But thank you for bringing her here. I am sure she will be grateful too."

A soft sigh. "As you wish. Take care of her."

Bronzewing looked unsurprised to see Sam awake when he pushed aside the curtains, Kair's footsteps fading away into the night. His white robes swept against his form as he moved to a cabinet beside Sam's bed.

"How did he find me?" said Sam.

"Night elven insomniacs tend to wander." Bronzewing didn't look up as he rummaged in a drawer. "Like you and your companion tonight."

"It's still dark?"

"It's not far from dawn, no. Drink up, will you?" He pushed a vial at Sam.

She obeyed without complaint, raising her eyebrows in surprise at the hints of cherry and orange. Wasn't it a law somewhere that all medicine had to taste nasty? "So, Nalice did quite a number on me, did she?" She tried not to sound cheerful.

"She did." Bronzewing's suspicious eyes settled on her. "I'll have to keep you for tonight. You'll be out tomorrow morning."

"What?" Sam's shoulders sagged in disappointment.

"There are far healthier ways to be closer to your child." Bronzewing sighed. "Nalice could have _killed_ you."

"I knew she wouldn't," said Sam. "I thought I'd get longer in the infirmary, though. If you let me in at night I wouldn't have to resort to — "

"It's _not_ infirmary policy to allow people who are healthy to sleep here." Bronzewing planted his hands on his hips. "Yes, we have room for _you_, but not for everyone else who'd want to stay by their relatives! Please resist killing yourself trying to slip through loopholes."

"I don't want Mandy to — "

"She will not die alone." Bronzewing's voice softened. "I can _assure_ you."

"I assume you would know, wouldn't you?" said Sam. Bronzewing froze in the dim candlelight. "Yeah, I thought so. You're their ally, aren't you? Katrana Prestor trusts you, and she's no fool. She wouldn't unless she had good reason."

Bronzewing smiled. "You're a smart one, aren't you?"

Sam watched him. "I didn't know Bronzes smiled."

"No, the anti-smiling thing is Black Flight only." Bronzewing lowered his voice as he stepped closer. He pulled up a chair beside the bed, looking rather pleased. "Though, we don't bare our teeth in smiles either. None of the Flights do."

"Why not?"

"Didn't Nalice tell you? When a wild animal shows its teeth, it's always in aggression." Bronzewing straddled the chair, hugging its back as he gazed at her. "The Black Flight would have you believe they're more civilised than wild animals, but in the end, all dragons are just that. We are more animal than mortal. If anything, the Black Flight is the exception to this, but they've always had a deep connection with mortals." He smirked wryly. "Not that anyone believes it. But it's true."

Sam's mouth was dry. "You're not going to cure Mandy."

Bronzewing's smile faded. "I am only a time warden."

"I thought so," Sam murmured. "If you wanted to save her, you would have by now."

"But you don't ask me?"

Sam flopped herself back on her pillow. Her head protested when she did. "I love Mandy," she said. "More than anything. But I recognise a lost cause when I see one. Neither of us belong in this world, I don't think. I want Mandy to live. But maybe..." She swallowed before she went on, eyes swimming with tears. "This world's a cruel place. For all I know you're letting her die because it'd be better than whatever she may go through when she's older. I'll never know."

Bronzewing dodged the statement. "And you think the Black Flight _isn't_ crueler?"

"They are. But they don't hide it, do they?" Sam turned her head to look at Bronzewing. "Humans and mortals pretend to know better and then they go behind your backs. Nalice doesn't lie. She doesn't pretend to have kindness she doesn't. The Black Flight seem to be pretty upfront about their assholery, if you ask me. And you're... like a god. Why does Amandine have to die?"

"Because she got ill, and not all illnesses have cures — "

"No. There has to be a cure in the future. Why _won't_ you save her?"

"I can't tell you that," said Bronzewing. "Let me warn you now, Sam, if I've learned one thing it's that sometimes ignorance is bliss. It itches at you, it drives you insane not having the knowledge... but the truth would destroy you. You couldn't handle it."

Silence.

Sam stared at the ceiling. "Am I a bad person?"

"No," said Bronzewing. "You're not."

"I should _make_ you save her... If you can do it, you should!"

"You don't love her any less because you're not on your knees begging in vain, Sam." He leaned forward, tucking the blankets up to her chin. "You know I won't do it. It's hard to be here every morning the moment visiting hours starts, with nothing to do but hold and rock your dying child until you're told to go back. It's hard to anger a dragon, risking your own death all in the name of spending a few hours closer to your baby. And it's hard to accept the inevitable, and know there's... nothing you can do to change it." His voice sounded unsteady. Sam looked back at him, but his face was turned away. "I'm not at the stage where I can accept it yet. I don't know how you could do it."

"Because I'm not good enough," said Sam. "Like some heartless bitch I've spent most of her life wishing I wasn't a single parent — "

"Wishing it was easier is not wishing her gone." Finally, Bronzewing looked at her. When she saw the redness of his eyes, all anger inside her died. "You love your daughter, everyone can see it. Ever since she's gotten sick you spend day after day singing to her and telling her stories as if everything was normal. You hate being a single parent, but _you don't hate that you have her_. She's your baby, Sam. If anything, doubting whether you're good enough just speaks of your love for her all the louder. Out of both her parents, it is you that's here, not..."

"Ah," said Sam. "You know of him."

"Mmm," said Bronzewing. "I've never met him myself, but I've heard things."

"I hope he's dead somewhere. I hope he died alone." Sam watched Bronzewing, who said nothing as he rose from his chair. But her hope remained strong. That son of a bitch, Norris, better get what he had coming one day... "Sir?"

"Mmm?"

"You have the heroes in history, the people who made differences," said Sam. "You have the people with tragic beginnings and happy endings... and you have the people who live in nothing _but_ tragedy, just to be a lesson to others. They're extras in a play that help the heroes, or even help someone help the heroes, but they never have happy lives themselves. Nothing but ill happens to them. What's my role? Will this go on forever?"

She waited for his reassurance. She waited for him to tell her she was destined to great things, but all he did was shake his head. "I can't tell you your future, Sam." He gave her a strained smile before he jerked the curtains closed. "That spoils the fun, doesn't it?"

Sam's scowl fixed on the curtains. "Fun?" she said bitterly to the empty air. "What fun is there in this?"

-o-O-o-

Sam didn't remember falling asleep, but all of a sudden the candle had died and the gentle blue of the pre-dawn light illuminated the healing ward.

And a hooded figure stood at the end of her bed, staring at her.

Sam pulled the covers tighter over her in the cold. "How did you know I wouldn't die?"

"I didn't," was her silent answer.

"Oh. Somehow, I'm not surprised."

"The Flight does not tolerate weakness." Two hard, cold eyes stared at her. Something seemed _off_ about Nalice, but Sam couldn't pinpoint it. "Nobody will coddle you. Nobody will protect you. We fight for ourselves above others, and only for the Flight as a whole above ourselves. The only way to serve the Flight is not to disgrace it with weakness. From the moment we hatch, we turn on and kill one another. Those who die are purged by the Titans as they deserve, which only strengthens us all."

_Sounds lovely. _Sam met Nalice's eyes. "How has your society not destroyed itself?"

"Because only the weak die," said Nalice. "If we were to be wiped out tomorrow, it would be because we deserved it. And with that, I am here to ask you; are you still prepared to serve the Flight to the best of your meagre ability?"

Sam's heartbeat thundered in her ears. She couldn't tear her eyes away from Nalice's, cold and dark. "Why did you think I would serve you?"

"Because you came to me." Now that they spoke business, Sam realised what seemed wrong with Nalice. Rather than sneering like a teenaged girl at a classmate, she stood straight, tall and still. Not even her eyes, fixed on Sam like glue, moved. "Because you have not told. Because you feel more kinship with Onyxia and I than your own kind."

Nalice wasn't her friend. She never had been. Nalice was her mistress, her _leader_, a shepherdess enticing a lost sheep to the flock with poisoned food.

But it was too late now, wasn't it?

"Onyxia..." A shudder went down Sam's spine. The woman who had held Mandy close, who was pregnant with the Highlord's baby, was _Onyxia_? "But I heard stories about her. She's a powerful sorceress, more dangerous than even Nefarian is! She's wiped out entire villages with her breath, and she's... with the _Highlord?_"

"She's gone... soft," Nalice deadpanned. Sam suppressed a laugh, attracting a menacing glare. Sam's smile faded as Nalice continued. "It has been a long, long time since mortals were chosen to serve the Black Dragonflight, mortals who were more than simple tools. You will be more than that."

"But not by much, I assume?"

"No."

"You ask me after you almost killed me if I want to serve you?"

"Yes."

"I take it the Highlord doesn't know about this."

"And it would be a pity if I had to remove you from existence for allowing him to find out."

"He wouldn't, even if I said no." Sam propped up her pillows, and leaned against them. "But my answer is yes."

And then she found out why dragons did not smile at equals. Nalice smiled, then, but there was nothing human about it. It was evil, calculating, with a self-satisfied tilt to the head. No dragon would let her get away with it... but Sam wasn't a dragon. If _Nalice_ smiled at her, then she was in trouble. "I have chosen well, then." But had _Sam?_ The smile unnerved her, clenched her heart in cold fear. "No weak mortals for us. But then..." Her smile sent more shivers down Sam's spine. "...my family has always chosen their mortal servants well. You have the right attitude. You know we will never do you any favours."

"No," said Sam. "And you don't lie about it. I'm grateful for that."

"It has been thousands of years since the Black Dragonflight took on Dragonsworn," said Nalice. "Once upon a time we chose a promising mortal, who would gather for us followers, building a wyrmcult. The time for them has long passed, but it has come again. We have need of a Dragonsworn once more. But we do not choose to let _anyone_ become a dragonsworn. You will be tested, multiple times, on the skills I train you. Some of these trials may prove fatal, unless you are strong."

"As long as I am alive long enough to say goodbye to my daughter, I do not mind."

"It doesn't matter whether you mind or not," Nalice said in a low hiss. "But that is of no consequence. I must still train you for a specific task I have in mind for you, and by the time your brat carks it you will be ready for it."

"Don't speak about her that — " But at Sam's angry words, Nalice faded into dangerous silence. Sam's protest died. "Alright," she said instead. "Will you tell me what it is?"

"Not yet," said Nalice. "You will know the day it is time. All I will tell you is..." She drummed her fingers on the metal at the end of Sam's bed, but at the loud noise she stopped. "Only those with true strength will live. The question is, do you have it?"

"I have it."

"We will see." Nalice smiled again. "Oh, this _shall_ prove amusing."

-o-O-o-

"Stop being self-pitying and _be there for your daughter!_"

"I _am_ here, did you think I let myself get beaten up just for the hell of it?"

"And what do you think this is doing to help her?"

"It helps _me_, Kair! My daughter is _dying_, reason enough to be upset and wallow in what you call 'self pity', and I'll be damned if anyone _else_ is here for me! You claim to be a friend but all you do is hide in your books. When was the last time _you_ faced your grief, you coward?"

"Is this a bad time?" said Bolvar flatly.

"No." The night elf at the side of the bed rose from his chair and bowed to Bolvar. "I have things to tend to. Good morning, Highlord."

"Good morning, then." Bolvar watched the night elf go, and then turned to Sam. A hospital gown lay across her lap as she tugged her second shoe onto her foot. " I came to visit the little one before my day started, but... are you quite well, Sam?"

"Oh, I just had a bit of a spat with Nalice." Sam stood, and the change in her made Bolvar go still. She stood with her back straight rather than wearing her typical slouch. The light that he'd once seen in her eyes, even whilst at her most unhappy, had died to be replaced by a hard look and a grim slant to her eyebrows, as if she expected to have to fight her way through everything.

But wasn't she fighting, right now?

"A _spat_ that landed you in the infirmary?" This wasn't his business. It wasn't his business —

Damn right it wasn't his business, but he'd be _damned_ if he was about to allow Kat's pushy niece to hurt anyone!

"Oh yeah, she's a damn good fighter," said Sam. "I'm glad she takes the time to train me — "

"She left her there, injured and unconscious." Kair growled from his place by the door. A few priests shot him dirty looks. "If I didn't happen to walk by she would have died there."

Sam shrugged. "She trains me hard, what can I say?"

"That's not _training_, that's assault!" Bolvar's fists clenched.

"But I didn't die." Sam held up both palms. "I'm fine."

Painfully aware of the eyes of other patients and priests alighting on them, Bolvar lowered his voice. "She should be arrested — "

"I'm not pressing charges." Sam glared at him. He blinked, stunned. Seeing this, Sam winced and smiled reassuringly. "I'm fine. I just want to go see my daughter now. If you want to, come say hello."

Bolvar matched Sam's stride as they walked down the hallway to Amandine. "This isn't right, Sam."

This wasn't his business. Wasn't his business. He should drop it —

But that was what he'd thought when Norris had happened, wasn't it? And Sam never forgave him for it. He could see it in her eyes every time she looked at him.

"Honestly." Sam plucked a couple of linen gloves from a box beside a door. Through a window Bolvar watched Horan Bronzewing look up, Amandine in his arms. When she stepped inside, the glass muffled her voice. "Hello, Brother. Anyway, Highlord, I like Nalice. The world would be a better place if more people were like Nalice."

What. The. _Hell?_

_Not his business, not his business._ Bolvar drew in a steady breath. "I doubt that. I question her motives."

Was it him, or did Sam freeze subtly? "She gets shit done." Sam took little coughing Mandy off Bronzewing. The infant looked tiny in her arms, as if she hadn't grown at all. "If I had the strength she did when Norris happened, I would be much better off now. I'm done with self pity. It's weak and gets you nowhere."

"It's not weakness to face emotions, Sam." With Nalice's attitude and now Sam, sometimes it felt as if there were _three_ bloody Katrana Prestors in Stormwind Keep! "It's unhealthy to just push them aside — "

"That's only what whiners like to think." Sam's brown eyes met his. Once upon a time they held warmth like melted chocolate, but now they chilled him like cold mud after a storm. Did she realise the implied insult of her words? Or had she truly changed so much she did not care? "Because they don't have any courage, because they lack the spine to push through it. And I've let myself and Mandy down so many times just by wallowing in it. But that's okay. I'm getting over it now. I'm going to be strong for her, just as she deserves."

They were losing her.

But they'd never had her, had they? When had he ever reached out to her?

"If I had this strength long ago, just imagine where I could have been now." Sam tickled Mandy's red nose. "I only wish Mandy was there with me. Happy. Healthy."

"You've changed," said Bolvar. Once upon a time, she'd never have been rude to _anyone_, let alone him...

But he couldn't discipline a mother with a dying child. She had plenty of reasons to be bitter, to be upset, and it would only get worse for her...

"I have work to do," he murmured. "Thank you for allowing me to see the little one. I hope she gets better soon."

"Say bye to the Highlord!" Sam held her daughter's wrist and made it wave.

But Mandy said nothing, not even her babbling baby-talk. But she hadn't babbled in months now. He smiled sadly.

As he left the infirmary, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He glanced over his shoulder, but nobody stood in the gardens. Nobody lurked behind the trees. He retraced his steps, but he didn't see so much as a scrap of cloth. He frowned. "Who's there?" he called out.

_Boo_, said Onyxia.

He sighed, rolled his eyes, and continued on his way. _Is it you who's been watching me?_

_Ever since you looked in on the little one. I had to check up on her too, after all,_ she said._ Besides, I live in your head, of course I watch you. I am curious, however. You understand Nalice acts just as Katrana once did, correct?_

Bolvar pictured two women in the training room, one bloodied on the floor, another standing over her in the darkness like a phantom... _No, not really._ Katrana had never left someone to die!

But Onyxia continued as if he had not spoken. _Why did you look past Katrana's hostility and not Nalice's? Why did you forgive Katrana, and not her?_

She could have died, Kair had said, and someone would have walked into that training room and found her cold corpse on the ground...

_Because_, he said_, some people don't deserve forgiveness for what they have done._

-o-O-o-

Through the gathering of the assembly of the House of Nobles, through lunch with a Darnassian diplomat and discussions of Alterac Valley and troubles in Redridge (that Katrana insisted weren't anything to worry about), Sam hung about the edges of his mind with his best friends, guilt and regret. Forget Reg and Leo, wherever they had gone, guilt and regret never left him alone. Outside, the rain pounded against the stone.

She was growing up, he knew that. Nothing made a girl grow up like becoming pregnant and then losing her only daughter. Sam was barely into adulthood, but to Bolvar she'd always be the girl in the kitchens who liked to sneak food to the urchins that hung about after dark. And Nalice...

He clenched his teeth and fists whenever he thought of her. He'd never hated someone before, not even Kat, but Nalice was quickly becoming his first.

For once, Onyxia and the Taint had no comments on the matter. Instead, Onyxia fretted over the victims of the orcs in Redridge (_they're all going to die, I'm sorry, I have to let them for the greater good_) and the Taint mocked Onyxia (_Sorry? _Sorry?_ What kind of weakling are you? Let them die, they deserve it!_). He pushed both aside.

He was long numb to their presences.

But his frustration grew all day, a hot coil in his chest. The heat was matched by the fury that swelled when he glimpsed Katrana speaking to Nalice in the gardens at lunch, the walkway above sheltering them from the pouring rain, throwing frowns towards one of the cooks who brought out scraps to feed the chickens.

Katrana adored Nalice. Of course, trust _Kat_ to find a kindred spirit in something even nastier than _she_ was...

_He's going to betray us,_ Onyxia whispered as the cook disappeared back into the kitchens. Bolvar caught Kat's eye across the gardens, Nalice standing still beside her, and gave her a warm smile. _I'm useless._

Onyxia only amused him when she made sense.

_You are_, whispered the Taint. _How disgusting. What kind of broodmother are you, to take pity on mortals? Bolvar has to die._

He felt a warmth at his chest, and before he could be disturbed by the words, they faded away from his mind. Katrana dropped her hand from the amulet around her neck, gave him a smile, and turned around just in time to meet Nalice's disgusted look. It faded instantly. He shot Nalice a chilly look.

At the day's end Bolvar took Anduin and Myth shooting targets in the training square, Jettion fluttering and squawking at them, and then had a good spar with Adam Rivers until his muscles ached.

But his frustration and hate remained. The Taint curled up and gurgled inside him, and hissed in glee.

_That thing is disturbing_, he noted to Onyxia. Who cared if he talked to headvoices?

_I know_, said Onyxia. _If only I knew what it was!_

After his shower, he marched up the secret passage to Kat's quarters with a stony glare fixed on his face. When he caught sight of a frowning Kat staring out of a black window, hands clutching both semi-closed curtains, his anger almost died inside him. She'd gotten changed into one of her old outfits that still fit her, something that did not hide her pregnancy like what she wore during the day, and he could see the swell of her stomach and their little one...

Then, of course, Kat had to say, "It seems Nalice has been doing Sam some good. I have not seen Sam so cheery in a long while."

Which brought his anger rushing back to him. "Nalice is only teaching her to be deluded."

At Bolvar's flat tone, Katrana arched one of her beautiful eyebrows and shot him an inquiring look, a look that normally had heat rushing to inappropriate places. "Deluded?" She finished pulling the curtains together. "Why do you say that?"

"Nalice is teaching her to be guilty for feeling upset, for fel's sake." Activity. He needed activity, to clean something, to move something around so he could vent and _not_ take this out on his new wife, but Kat always kept her spartan quarters immaculate, and probably wouldn't appreciate him moving things around even if she didn't. "Her child is dying, and Nalice makes her feel disgusted with herself for being upset about it. She's _heartless._ I talked to Sam this morning. Nalice beat her up and left her to die, and Sam won't even press charges because she insists it's good for her!"

Katrana shrugged before placing herself on one of the red chaises she kept. "If Samantha thinks it is good for her, then she knows better than us what is."

"How can you even _like_ Nalice?" Bolvar looked around the room. He couldn't sort books, Katrana kept things in alphabetical order. He fell back to pacing. Katrana bristled, and Onyxia started counting his steps obnoxiously in his head. But if he stood there he'd only get angrier and angrier.

"She is family." Katrana's tone betrayed her annoyance.

"I know you've never had family before now, but she's treating Sam like _shit_." The hands behind his back clenched one another. He sped up his pacing. His legs strained from his hard sparring before.

"You think I would be biased because she is related to me?"

Katrana. Bias. Two words that never fit together. He let out a puff of breath that sounded stronger than he intended. "No. So this means you think it's _right_ — ?"

"If it works, it works."

"Don't you see how unhealthy it is?" said Bolvar. "What part of 'she left her to die' are you not _getting_?" What was _wrong_ with that woman? "Kair said — "

"Kair is a fool who hides in his books," said Katrana. The words cut him. "Sam relied upon him to be a friend, and he was not, so she went to Nalice. Do you see her giving up the only support she has?"

_Six, seven, turn, one, two — your pacing is driving me up the wall!_ Onyxia hissed. _Do I have to put up with this for the rest of my life? ... Pardon, I mean yours?_

"That doesn't mean it's right." Bolvar pivoted at the end of the room for the dozenth time. "For fel's sake, Kat, put her on a damn leash!"

_How cruel of her_, said the Taint, _to let you and Sam down like this._

_What in the name of — _? said Onyxia.

Kat snorted. "Her behaviour is not for me to control."

"At least tell her to stop being such a bi— stop being so cruel to Sam."

"I daresay Sam needs it, she was moping about too much earlier."

_That woman is so cruel_, the Taint whispered. _She would not care if Sam died, if her child died…_

Bolvar stopped in his tracks to level his best glare at Kat. She merely tilted her head, exposing the fluid line of her skin running from shoulder to throat, stark against her dark hair. "How can you say that?" he said in disbelief. "After all she's gone through, how can you _say_ that?"

"Because it's true." Her cold eyes stared into his.

"This world isn't as cut-throat as you think it is, Kat!" Fuck, now his voice was rising. _Keep it down, keep it down._ In Stormwind Keep the walls the thick walls muffled most sound, but the last thing he needed was for neighbours to wonder why Bolvar was yelling at Katrana Prestor in her personal quarters. He closed his eyes, struggling to reign in his temper, but it refused to relent. "Why the hell do you like her so much? Why do you trust her so much? For fel's sake, you wanted her to witness our marriage and you barely know her."

_She's going to kill you_, said the Taint. _They're all dragons, and they're all going to kill you._

_Stop it!_ said Onyxia.

"I know her better than you do." Katrana looked bored. And yet a muscle in her face twitched slightly.

"And?" said Bolvar. "There are other people in this keep who've twice the character of Nalice whom you've known for over a decade, and none of them would do?"

Katrana sniffed. "They are fools."

"Will you get off your damn high horse?" Bolvar unclenched his fists. "They're not all as nasty as you think they are!"

_Of course they are, they're human,_ said Onyxia. _Humans cannot be trusted, humans are weak, humans are fools._

Fel, wouldn't the voices just _shut up_? He was tired of this insanity, of this — "Fel, Katrana, where the hell did you learn such... such a _draconian_ attitude? It's cruelty, that's what it is."

Katrana's eyes narrowed to disgusted slits. "I daresay the dragons have a better society than ours."

"Fuck, Kat!" said Bolvar. "I don't suppose _you're_ a dragon, by any chance? That would explain a lot!"

_Yes_, whispered the Taint. _She's responsible for us, for the voices, for Onyxia, for your dreams — _

Katrana stood up, her face as dark as a thundercloud, and instantly Bolvar knew he'd gone too far. "I was already suspected to be as such by the entire court before the tests took place, and ostracised," she spat. "When other people failed me, I buried myself in books about dragons, and I don't doubt that if I'd lived as one I would be much better off. When our own kind have wronged me so, wronged _Sam_ so... don't you _dare_ hurl accusations."

And with that, she snatched up her cloak and stormed out the door.

He sighed, and collapsed onto the chaise lounge. It still felt warm.

Of course Kat wasn't a damned dragonspawn, those _monsters_ wouldn't get pregnant, but... he squeezed his eyes shut, willing deep, calm breaths.

The voices in his head were too much. He could ignore them, but... he wasn't _sane_. He was a total nutcase.

He shouldn't take it out on Katrana. It wasn't Kat's fault. Mental illness could be as sudden and fleeting as a plague in the night. And by projecting his experiences with them onto Kat —

Onyxia did not live in his head, and neither did some almighty Taint. They were just _voices_. It was just a malfunction of his mind. He was sick, that was all it was. Sickness. Illness that might never be cured, might never go away, but he was only sick. There was nothing wrong with him. And as he had before, he would fight them in silence and hope that, one day, they would no longer plague him.

It wasn't Kat's fault he was insane. By letting his paranoia get the better of him, he let the illness win. He had to fight it, he _had_ to. If he lost control, if his actions drew enough suspicion, people would look into it. People would want answers. Nobody would want the prince to be so close to a madman, he'd lose Anduin, and...

... and his own son or daughter.

How could this work? How could this _ever_ work? A hastily thrown-together marriage between a woman who held herself distant, and a man who barely kept his sanity? Their rocky start portended future unhappiness, but he'd be damned if he deserted her. He would fight himself, alone. He would fight to keep her drifting from him, alone. He would fight to keep them together.

Alone. She didn't care, after all, did she?

But what if he couldn't? What if they were both doomed to an unhappy life? Was she distant because Katrana was not an affectionate woman, or was she distant because she no longer liked him?

-o-O-o-

The full moon above illuminated Stormwind from a clear sky. Puddles reflected the light. The dampness caressed her skin, and the coolness felt pleasant in her hair.

Sam was developing qualities that all Black Dragons had, and Kat was proud of her people.

So why did she doubt? Why did she hesitate? Why did the thought of Sam's change cause dread to pool in her stomach?

And Bolvar's suspicion did not wane as she'd desperately hoped. Using the amulet too much only made him more sensitive to her, she could not use it unless she had no other choice.

She plunged into the city, allowing the puddles to soak her chilled feet. She hadn't even put shoes on. She blocked out Onyxia.

They were almost two different individuals now. No — three. Katrana Prestor, Onyxia, and the Taint, the Taint that had made up her anger, pride and fury. The parts of her she'd once thought _were_ her, the qualities she'd loved and clung to. The same qualities that led to self-loathing when they crumbled, _when she resisted it._

But pride and anger defined a dragon, had defined _her_. If that had been the Taint all along...

Tonight she felt... human. She was near-blind, near-deaf, unable to use her nose, and yet it no longer bothered her. She functioned as a human did, by poor sight and not by smell or hearing.

But when you took the human away, when you took the _Taint_ away, who _was_ she? What would be left?

If only Sabel were here. Was this how he had felt? Was he different from the rest of the Flight not because of any weakness, but because he was _human?_

She looked to the sky. The rain that afternoon had stripped the Dwarven District's pollution from the sky, leaving the stars bright and glittery as they twinkled down on her…

_Please_. Was it the Titans to whom she prayed, or the Light the humans worshipped? _Let him be alive. He has to be alive_. Sabel would survive. He _knew_ how to survive. For millennia he had survived in a destructive culture which loathed him, and in mortal cultures that he could never truly fit into. He had to be alive.

Her throat tightened. He _had_ to...

_And if he isn't?_ the Taint whispered to her seductively. _And if you find out that you are alone? That you are the only dragon with human weakness? Do you really believe that pathetic whelp survived what killed the most elite? Why him?_

Because she had to believe he could. Because she loved her brother more than she loved her own children, because she _needed_ him and his wisdom. Because for all the years they walked different paths, he was as much a part of her world as the sky and earth. In this world, where she didn't even know who Onyxia was anymore, she had nothing to cling to but hope.

_Only a weakling hopes. Only a weakling relies on another weakling._

_No_, she whispered back. _I have to believe in him. I have to believe he will come home._

She walked for hours. Her feet grew so cold she could no longer feel them, but she continued to walk for a long time, pretending that she'd never have to go back to the Keep, that she wouldn't have to one day mate with the human, pretending she would survive this. But a human body has its limits, and deep into the night, Katrana wrapped her cloak tightly around herself and sank onto a bench.

She would rest. And then she would return to the warmth. She closed her eyes. A patrolling guard hesitated, but continued his walk.

Once upon a time she would have been able to smell his scent, but with her weak nose all she detected was the dead rain around her that had, only that day, spilt from the heavens and shattered on the cobblestones like Sabel's body did in her darkest nightmares.

-o-O-o-

In the distance, a man in orange robes picked herbs. The sky above Stormwind matched the colour of his clothes as she watched him through a window. But as she gazed at the canal he knelt in, she noticed its crookedness, how there was far more wood than stone, how even Stormwind Keep, rising in the distance, looked different...

She'd always thought that this was _her_ dream, that she dreamed of Stormwind after the draconic army would come. But no. This wasn't a dream of her future.

This was a dream of Bolvar's past.

She heard raised, angry voices. She looked around her, taking in a punctured chaise, the burnt-out roof above her, the soot and bloodstains on the walls. She smelled orc. Chairs lay broken around a shattered table. An axe lay embedded in the floor. Kat stepped over broken glass.

The orcs had destroyed the kitchen, too, but the man and woman inside didn't notice the chaos around them. The woman's blonde hair whipped around her head as she shook it and snarled, the man's blue eyes lit on fire with fury as he clenched his fists. Their spat-out words swam around her, incoherent, but she heard their venom. She heard their hurt. The air stank of fear, anger and worry.

And from above, she heard despair.

She left the humans to their war and made her way carefully up a spiral staircase. Some steps broke beneath her feet, leaving her to be saved only by clinging to the banister. When she made it to the landing, the charred wood creaked ominously underneath her. A door loomed ahead, ajar, in the darkness.

It creaked as she pushed it open.

The ruffled sheets lay strewn on the bed, a pillow half-fallen to the floor, a familiar scent on the fabric. From underneath she heard minute breaths. She almost trod on a carved, wooden horse as long as her arm. A stuffed bear lay beside it, the seam torn at its shoulder, cotton wool spilling out like blood.

She crouched beside the bed, and pulled the blanket aside to reveal the black hollow underneath. "Why so dramatic?"

Two green eyes peered out at her. A boy shoved himself from underneath, chocolate hair falling into his eyes as he lunged at her and clung. "I hate it when they fight!"

Kat tilted her head as she gazed down at him, frowning. "I thought they loved each other?"

"They're _fighting_!" The boy teared up. "I don't want her to go, please tell her not to go!"

"Listen," said Kat. "They are no longer yelling, young one."

"She's gone!" The boy clung to her tighter. "She went away!"

But Kat gazed around the room in wonder, taking in the toybox, the wooden blocks, the carved animals. "How old are you?"

"I don't..." The boy hesitated. "Four, I think? Or am I forty three? I can never remember anymore. I think I'm going insane. Onyxia talks to me all the time, and every time I fall asleep she's there, or you're here, and we're always in Stormwind and there are dragons everywhere... and the man. The alchemist. He's always picking herbs. Why hasn't he found enough by now?"

"I don't know why he's here, Bolvar," said Kat.

"But mother and father..." The boy clutched her arm. "Gods, she's gone, isn't she? She must've gone!"

"Shush," said Onyxia. "I shall check for you. Wait here."

She found his parents still in the kitchen, but in a much different position to earlier. The elder Fordragon held his wife tightly in his arms, a soft smile on his face as she nuzzled his neck. He murmured something, nosing her ear, and she blushed.

Kat rose an eyebrow.

"Mother!" said the boy, running past her. He'd followed her? He threw his arms around her legs. "Father!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, love, did we wake you?" Only then did the boy's mother pull away, running her fingers through her son's hair. She crouched beside him. "I'm sorry, that must've scared you."

"Are you leaving?" The boy pressed his head into her shoulder. "Please don't leave!"

Celine. Her name was Celine, the dream told her, and he was Arthurian. She looked up at him, with puzzlement in her green eyes. "Why would he ever think I would leave?"

"I forgot to tell you," said Arthurian. "Tanya left Jacob yesterday. It was a while in coming. For another man, it turns out."

"That's awful!" Celine stood. "And the boys?"

"Franklin and Reginald are with their father." Arthurian sighed, and shook his head. "I don't think Tanya plans on returning."

"Oh, _no_."

"Mother!"

"Oh, Bolvar." Celine knelt beside her son and pulled him into a tight embrace. "Darling, people fight. It happens. The more they love each other, the more it hurts. I love you and your father far too much to ever leave. No matter how crazy he drives me sometimes."

"No matter how crazy _you_ drive _me_," Arthurian growled, but his eyes shone as he regarded his wife. He touched her hair and knelt beside her, tilting her chin towards him to deliver a deep, lingering kiss.

Bolvar beamed, and scurried away from them.

"Alright." Kat blinked as she followed. "Aren't mortals supposed to be disgusted when their parents show affection?"

She heard a soft laugh behind her, and the adult Bolvar she knew said, "After what happened to Reggie's parents, I was always thrilled whenever they were affectionate." The Highlord stepped from behind her, folding his arms as he leant against the doorway, watching with a soft smile. Kat looked behind her. Arthurian combed his fingers through Celine's blonde hair, and both faded from view as Celine leaned forward for another kiss. "I miss them," he said. "I didn't know them long enough, but they were so in love with one another. But every time parents fight, their children think it's the end of the world. It's practically a law of nature." He continued to gaze into the empty kitchen, his smile fading. "They didn't often fight, though they bickered as every married couple does. I grew up hoping I'd one day have that for myself. I never found it."

Kat's heart felt cold. "And you never will," she murmured.

Because of _her_. Because of her crusade. Because she needed a pawn.

She slumped against the doorway, staring at the space where Arthurian and Celine had been.

"_Everyone_ wants that," said Bolvar. "Few people ever get it. Didn't you ever want that, Kat?"

... No. She'd never wanted that. She'd had her children and familial love, and that had been all she'd ever needed. Oh, after Orion's treachery, she had not particularly minded him, though he'd always loved his other consorts more. She'd loved her brother, but as sister, she always came second to his own brood.

But...

"My parents loved one another too, just like yours did. I barely remember." Back before the War of the Ancients... She shook her head. "But they did not love each other after that. They fought, they were at odds, _always_ at odds by the time my mother died." She lifted her chin. "And that is how it was. I did not need them to love each other, nor to love me. Neither does our son or daughter. Our child will be stronger than that."

_Why had he hurt her? He'd loved Sintharia. Deathwing had loved and adored all of his consorts, once..._

_... and then he hurt her._

Bolvar laughed bitterly. "Really? And I suppose you want the child to turn out like _you_?"

Like her? Unsure, hesitant, thinking thoughts considered blasphemous and heretical to the rest of the Flight?

_If only._

But no. No matter how hard she tried, it would be the Taint that raised her mortal child and corrupted it, turned it homicidal and paranoid.

"It would bless it if it did," said Onyxia.

A faint wind stirred, blown in through the window, carrying Sabellian's distant scent entwined with the stench of smoke outside.

"I am sorry, Bolvar," she murmured. "You never asked for any of this. I am so, so sorry."

-o-O-o-

"I didn't think I'd find you _here_, of all places."

Light. Gentle pink light. Kat's eyes fluttered open. Fel, she'd slept until dawn? Why didn't any of the guards wake her? Did they think she was homeless and took pity on her? Her heavy eyes made out the man in front of her. "Mister Hackett."

Carlos Hackett blinked at her. A cloak laid over his crossed arms, and he wore short sleeves. The day would heat up soon enough, she supposed. "Lady Prestor, why are you out here?"

"A late night walk," she said. She hurriedly drew her cloak more tightly around her, hoping it had not slipped and revealed her condition during the night. "I fell asleep."

"I can see that."

There was something different about the way Carlos looked at her. Where was his childish grin and cheeky attitude more befitting a child than a man Bolvar's age? But now something flickered in his eyes...

... _Fear?_

If only she could smell it.

"And why are you here?" She rose. Her feet still felt chilled. She had work to do today, and it would take a long time to reach the Keep. Blue roofs met her vision. Had she truly walked as far as the _Trade District?_

Blast.

"Looking for my wife." He smiled at her, but it was but a ghost of the smiles she'd seen on him, once upon a time. "You look cold. I take it Stormwind weather doesn't... _agree_ with you."

"No," said Katrana. "But I have found I am growing used to it." She nodded to him. "Look for your wife. I must return to the Keep. Do pass my regards on to her. She makes good dresses."

"She does, doesn't she?" There. That happy spark returned to Hackett's eyes. "She looks beautiful in them."

"I shall have to meet her one day." Wasn't that what Hackett had wanted all along?

But he hesitated. "She's under a lot of stress right now. Perhaps, sometime in the future... I had best be going. Take care, Lady Prestor."

How embarrassing, she reflected as she walked back, to be caught sleeping outside by a peasant. But then, it had been so long since she had slept under the stars with the tastes of the outdoors in her mouth.

She'd missed it.

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Seeing the reviews I get really makes my day and helps keep me going. I can't thank everyone enough for their kind words! It keeps me writing and encourages me to do the best I can with each chapter._

_If you sign up for an account I'll be able to PM you my reply._

**_Goth:_**_ Aww, you made my day, thank you so much._

**_Zeitlos:_**_ Bolvar Snuggle Time... LOL. And oh boy, I hope that paperwork trouble eases up soon._

**_Etincelle:_**_ I'm glad I seem to have pulled it off! Thank you._

**_Tito:_**_ I have to keep myself in check when writing mind dialogue because I get HUGE kicks out of it, heh heh!_

**_Ariaelyne:_**_ Can't stop imagining Nalice with a lamp shade on her head. WHAT HAS BEEN SEEN._

**_KyreanNightblood:_**_ Hopefully that'll be answered next chapter!_

**_Mara:_**_ ... I honest to god didn't think of that. Oh my!_


	35. If in Doubt, Blame Old Gods

_**A/N: **I had a buffer but then I ated it._

_A couple of people have pointed out that the story's dragging on a bit. Ohgod, I am so sorry! I was so worried about rushing it I went and did the opposite. Go me. It was poor planning on my part, and I intend to make up for it. I'm really thankful you've all stayed with me this far! Your feedback helps me become a better writer._

_This is the last quiet chapter before we delve into the event marking the end of part one. It's big, and I hope it will be well worth the wait!_

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

* * *

Around her the summer day began to warm. Bleary-eyed adults trailed after children, empty baskets in the crooks of their elbows. Vendors set up the stalls that lined the streets, calling out their goods. She felt relieved to step from the cacophony into the canal district.

She cut across the cobbles of Old Town to save time, the warm brown roofs taking her under their shelter, but halfway across she hesitated. A door stood open invitingly, and within she glimpsed the familiar, leather spines of books.

Bolvar loved books. He wasn't the stupid mortal she'd thought he was. He had intelligence. Wants. Fears. Secrets. Just like any dragon.

The dream came back to her with a sense of unease that seeped into her. She'd never thought of what Bolvar wanted. She'd never _cared_.

Sabel would have cared.

She sighed, and ducked into the store.

With the amount of rude mercs in the city, her bare feet and hooded visage attracted only a raised eyebrow. She ignored human etiquette and kept up her hood. She hadn't worn her form-concealing clothes when she'd stormed out the night before, and if she was recognised...

Soon she would have to take medical leave. She could not hide the pregnancy for much longer.

_This is appalling_, the Taint griped as she took in the books around her. _You are a dragon. How can you stoop so low as to get a gift for a human!_

But she wasn't a dragon anymore, was she? She was pregnant with a human child, for fel's sake!

_Where is your pride, you whelp?_

"I am done with you," Katrana murmured as she stroked the spine of a book. "I want nothing to do with pride any longer."

"Are you quite alright, ma'am?" came the polite-but-worried voice of the bookseller behind the counter. Kat chuckled and waved a hand dismissively.

_You are disgusting_, said the Taint. _You are weak._

"I do not believe so." To spare the vendor's nerves, she murmured. But the Taint heard her. It always heard her. "From this day on I shall discover what _true_ strength is."

_You would cast aside the sanctity of your people's culture for this rabble?_

"There is no sanctity." She held the books close to her chest. Bolvar would like these, she was sure, at least one of them she'd known he'd wanted. "Not since you tightened your grip on us and never let go."

_I am Broodmother_, she continued in her head as she paid for the books, to the vendor's relief, with the gold coins in her cloak pocket. _A Black Dragon. I am daughter of the Aspect of Earth, and granddaughter of the Titans. I swear by them that if I ever find a way to set my brothers and sisters free from you, I will. From this moment forward..._

"You will not hold me captive anymore," she murmured as she stepped into the fresh air.

As the Taint raged, she closed her ears and mind to it. She took a deep breath. _Freedom. From now on, it is mine. Begone —_

_What the fel are you going on about this time?_ said Bolvar.

She stiffened, and focused on the bond, which pulsed and thrived with proximity. She spread her consciousness like tendrils along the bond, and felt him only a few streets away. He couldn't see her like this! _What are you doing?_ she asked.

His bad mood hovered about her like a thundercloud, with lightning-strikes of anxiety. _What does it look like I'm doing, you stupid dragon? Why, I believe I'm walking! That's right, isn't that amazing?_

She didn't even need to touch the amulet anymore. She found an alleyway, perched on a crate and prepared to leave her body unsupervised. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she saw another street, heard Bolvar's footsteps underneath her, saw the red and black sign of the Brotherhood of Cinders approaching. _My, Fordragon, aren't we sarcastic today?_

_Oh, don't you start,_ he snarled at her as he stormed up the steps. _If Kat's not back by the time I am, I'm sending out the guards. Staying away all night in a sulk is just the kind of thing she'd do, but this is ridiculous... lucky for her she had nothing to tend to this morning!_

The palpable mix of anger and anxiety bled into her. The poor man. His worry threatened to suffocate her.

He shoved the huge double doors of the guild hall open like a man on a mission and stalked inside, his heavy plate boots thudding against the floorboards.

_Oh my,_ said Onyxia. _I pity whoever's angered y... oh._

Bolvar made his way through until he found a blonde woman behind a desk. "Highlord." She blinked up at him, before she rose from her chair. "To what do I owe the honour of this visit?"

"Is Master Withering back _yet_?"

The woman blanched.

Onyxia rummaged through Bolvar's memories and retrieved the woman's name: Tarani Jensen. _Are you doing something in there? _said Bolvar, to her consternation, but Jensen distracted him with, "I'm afraid not."

"Ah." Bolvar clenched his fists. "Like he hasn't been back for the past _six months_. Jensen, I have waited long enough! When will he be back?"

"I'm afraid I don't — "

"Has this place fallen _apart_ in his absence? This was the most elite guild in the Alliance, and you can't keep in touch with a single man? He's disappeared." Bolvar levelled a disgusted look at her. "He's either captured, or dead. If you reported this as you should have you could have saved his life, so spill it."

"He withdrew contact deliberately," said Tarani. "He has someone with him to watch his back. He will be fine."

She did not sound as if she believed it.

"Tarani." Bolvar rested his knuckles on the desk, leaning against it. "I am in an _extremely_ foul mood, and I'm done with having bureaucrats run circles around me. If you do not tell me what this is, right now, I'll set Shaw on you. And his rogues won't hesitate to trash the place to look for clues."

_I'd tell him, if I were you_, Onyxia crooned mutely at Tarani.

Tarani sighed. "Your Lordship, I have heard _nothing_ from him since New Year's Eve. All he told me was that he was leaving me in charge. He didn't tell me why he left."

Bolvar's mind screeched to a halt. "New Year's Eve?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"In the middle of the night?"

She felt his body ache, as if a ghost of a knife had plunged into his chest. The room felt cold around him.

"Yes, my Lord," said Tarani.

_Leo_, said Bolvar. _How could you?_

Bolvar hardened his glare. "What do you know about the attempted assassination of Katrana Prestor that occurred that very night?"

Onyxia blinked. _What?_ Since when had Leonardo Withering been part of that?

Atramentia, also known as Maria Winters, had faked an assassination. She'd fallen from the roof, things hadn't gone according to plan, and then she'd died that night.

Had Leo Withering had something to do with it?

Tarani blinked at him as well. Was it Onyxia, or did her face pale? "I heard, my Lord. A traitorous move from... Tariona White, I believe her name was?"

Bolvar's voice was in a low, dangerous tone Onyxia had never heard before as protectiveness spiked within him. "What else do you know about it?"

"Nothing, my Lord," Tarani's voice wavered.

"Because if I find out you've been withholding any more information from me, you will go in the Stocks right with her," said Bolvar. "And when I track down the coward who skipped town rather than face the consequences of his treasonous actions, he'll join you! The guards will be here shortly to interrogate you. I hope you are as innocent as you claim to be. For your sake."

"Highlord..." Tarani yanked open a drawer. When Bolvar held out his hand she dropped a blue crystal into his palm. "This is a communication crystal. Right now they can only range citywide, no further. I will contact you if I ever see him. But send the guards in, we have nothing to hide." She gazed up at him. "I will cooperate in any way I can."

_Batting those blue eyes will not help you if I find out you helped try to kill her,_ Bolvar growled. _Light help you._

"I just can't believe Leo would do such a thing to you," said Tarani. "It has to be coincidence. He wouldn't have betrayed you for _anything_."

Bolvar narrowed his eyes at Tarani in a glare so dirty that Onyxia felt proud. "I should certainly hope not, Jensen."

_Kat better get back safe,_ said Bolvar as they left, but his anger had drained to be replaced by fear.

Fear. For her and the child.

It felt odd, for someone to care for her so much.

-o-O-o-

Katrana zoomed back into her own body and allowed Bolvar to get a head start back to the Keep before she followed at a distance. She slipped into their quarters without confrontation and retreated into the bathroom for a much-overdue shower. The warm water felt like bliss on her cold, sore feet as she washed her hair. She wasn't sure how, but some leaves had made a nest in there overnight. Hmph.

Far away, she felt a flood of relief coming from Bolvar as he entered through the passage. And then irritation, which only grew and grew.

She had never been afraid of a human before, she wasn't going to be _now_. If she had heart palpitations, it was to do with... well, didn't pregnancy interfere with blood pressure? If she spent longer than usual preening her hair afterwards, it was because she wanted to ensure all the leaves were gone. She had to double check, after all. And triple check.

_Coward,_ the Taint snarled.

She stormed out in a huff just to spite it, and crashed into her husband. "Bolvar!" She caught herself before she stumbled. "Forgive me, I failed to look where I was going — "

"Would that be why you were gone _all night_?" he spat.

How comforting, to be confronted by anger again. Dragons were _always_ angry; to have annoyed a human being so much felt as if she were home again. She smiled. Where had she put those books?

Perhaps those would cheer him, because she should be making him _happier_, not angrier!

"Indeed," she said instead. "I ended up in the Trade District. The walk and the fresh air did me good."

"Oh, did it _really_?" Bolvar said with such venom that even Nalice would look worried. He leaned against the doorway as he watched her bustle around the main room. Hmph! Where had she put those books? "And I suppose the fact that I was here _worried sick_ doesn't register at all?"

Aha! There, on the coffee table. She blinked at him, straightening up, a book in her hand. She tried to push it into Bolvar's. "I can take care of myself quite well, do not fear."

"What's this?" For a moment, anger had switched to puzzlement.

"A gift." After all she'd done to the poor human... "I thought you deserved — "

"Damn it, Kat!" he exploded. Without her mind's permission, the human body she wore froze, dropping the book, her heart speeding adrenaline through her veins. "Don't think you can _bribe_ my anger away and hide from the real issue like a _coward_!"

"Bribe?" She frowned. "It honestly did not occur to me that you might take it that way."

_She's lying,_ said the Taint.

_What?_ said Onyxia. _No, I — she's not! Where did that come from?_

"Shut _up_!" Bolvar hissed, leaving Katrana blinking. She felt tangible shame descend upon him as he realised he'd answered them aloud._ I am a damned lunatic!_ said his voice in her head, every word spiked with self-disgust. He grunted and stalked past her. "I have to meet with Anduin's tutor in ten minutes."

He slammed the door behind him.

A new emotion flooded Kat's body like poison, unpleasant and uncomfortable. Katrana knelt to pick the book up from the floor. Her eyes stung, but there were no tears. Her chest hurt, reminiscent of the way Bolvar's had when he'd learned of Leo's betrayal.

... Was this emotion betrayal, then? No. She'd felt betrayal before. This was...

_Hurt_.

"He's just a human," she said quietly, aloud. Nobody answered. She rubbed her hand across the book's leather cover, feeling the smooth, gold lettering beneath her fingertips. "Simply a human. Why would the body react like this?"

_Because the human body is attached to him_, thought Onyxia. _It cares for him and dislikes being rebuffed._

_My!_ came Bolvar's voice. _Aren't_ we_ educational today! Why don't you shut the fuck up before they lock me up for insanity, eh? Haven't you ruined enough?_

The Taint laughed, then, a low, throaty sound that had her shuddering. Katrana reached out to Bolvar. When they touched, she felt exasperation. Shame. Frustration.

... Sadness.

_You think she is afraid of you?_ she said.

_She barely tells me about herself,_ said Bolvar, _she's always nervous around me and she never goes near me. Surely if she wanted me she'd have opened up by now? She's changed her mind, I know it, and she's too much of a coward to say so. She doesn't even try._

Kat looked down at the book in her hand. _But that's all she ever does. Trying is never enough. 'Trying' gives permission for failure._

_She won't try,_ Bolvar scoffed. _Mark my words. Our poor child's going to grow up wondering why his or her parents despise each other so much..._ There. There was the sadness, again. _I can deal with not being loved by my wife, fine. And I'd hate for her to live this way, but I know she could deal with it, too. But the child doesn't deserve this._

_It never did,_ said Onyxia. _But if only that was the worst that it would have to endure..._

Then Bovar said, _What the fuck am I doing, talking to you?_ and fell quiet, no matter how much Onyxia prodded.

Her chest felt strange again. As if her heart had rotted inside her.

Guilt.

-o-O-o-

The infirmary opened at dawn. Sam made sure to be up an hour beforehand.

After months of visiting Mandy by day and training with Nalice in the evenings, she had long grown used to ignoring her body's fatigue. She stepped in and out of her sputtering shower in five minutes, washing her hair thoroughly and scrubbing her body raw. After she pulled on her clothes she trod across warm floorboards, sat beside the box near Mandy's cot, and began to sort.

She dug up the teddy bear that Katrana had bought Mandy for Winter's Veil, its fur short and worn from so many washings, as well as a wooden rattle and a couple of other toys. Everything had to be clean.

Half an hour before the sun rose, the humid air pressed in on Sam as she strode to the infirmary, the bag slung over one shoulder. She leaned against the wall beside the closed door. It would be a hot day. Soon fall would arrive, with Katrana's baby. The year passed quickly. So quickly.

Would Mandy live to see winter?

"It is half an hour before the infirmary opens," said a voice. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for it to do so." Sam kept her tone patient. Something about the dragon's demeanour had changed since the night before, and Sam didn't want to find out what.

Nalice tilted her head. "What, the child is _still_ alive? My, she is taking a long time to die, isn't she?"

Thank goodness the dim light hid the tears in her eyes. Sam looked up with as much of a nonchalant expression as she could manage. "My girl's a survivor. She's strong."

"How amusing. She is a _karkunashj_."

"A what?" _Karkun_ was 'mortal', Sam knew that, but what was _karkunashj_?

"_Karkun_ are named after _karkunasj_. It means 'cockroach'." Nalice smirked. "It colloquially refers to those who should have died long ago but refuse to." And with a soft laugh, Nalice disappeared.

Nalice could afford to be complacent in front of a Dragonsworn. Laughter would be tempting fate around another dragon, but what mortal could afford to take offence without signing their own death warrant?

The healers let her in twenty minutes early, as they always did.

When Horan ushered her into Mandy's chamber, he took the bag from her and emptied it onto the table. Sam picked up the bear that Katrana had bought her daughter for Winter's Veil. "Hey, Mandy. How are you today?"

Sister Sutton, of all people, appeared then with some bright brass scales, and took Mandy from the crib. "I've been measuring her every day." Sutton sounded puzzled. "She hasn't grown at all."

"I could have done that," said Horan with a scowl towards the scales, but Sutton waved him off with an icy glare of her own. Sam preferred it when Sutton was cheerful, but that was a rare occurrence.

"Still?" said Sam.

"Not in months." Sutton frowned. "Her weight is... _relatively_ steady, though she continues to lose some."

"Is this normal?" Sam didn't intend for her voice to sound as panicky as it did. "That is, if she's sick?"

"Even a sick child should be growing a _little_, even if not by much." Sutton frowned at the scales. A glowing number appeared on the side as Mandy lay still on it. "No change." Sutton removed the child and held her out to Sam. Sam took her baby into her arms gratefully. "It's most peculiar. She turns one... when, did you say?"

"October," said Sam. "She was born in October."

"And it's not far until August, so she's ten months-ish..." Sutton frowned. "She has the height of a six-month old, and she weighs even less than one. That is not normal even for blood sickness. She has survived longer than we anticipated, too..."

Sam's eyes slid to Bronzewing, who suddenly appeared fascinated by the wall. Sam cuddled her daughter close and said to Sutton, "So is this good or bad?"

"Do not get your hopes up. Nobody survives the blood sickness," said Sutton. "She may have lived longer but her condition has not improved at all. And yet, it is taking a remarkably long time to progress. It had been deteriorating so quickly I thought she had a version of it that was quite fatal quite quickly."

"A long _time_ to progress," Sam echoed. Horan didn't squirm. He didn't have to. She sighed.

"Now," said Sutton, "pardon me... Brother Bronzewing, has the child taken her medicine today?"

"Yes," said Bronzewing.

"Then I shall be on my way." Sutton gave Sam a sad smile, Mandy a little pat, and departed with the scales.

Bronzewing winced as Sam sat down, Mandy nestling against her. Her voice was quiet as she spoke. "I don't suppose you would happen to have anything to do with the fact that Mandy hasn't grown?"

"A child's growth is slowed when she is sick."

"But she hasn't grown at _all_. And she's dangerously underweight for her age."

Bronzewing said nothing.

Sam summoned her Inner Nalice and turned her best glare on the Bronze. "What. Did. You. Do."

Bronzewing's shoulders heaved in a sigh. "I gave her more time. It's complicated magic because she still has to breathe in the same time as we do, digest and absorb nutrients in the same time we do, whilst halting the growth of cancerous cells, but I managed it and it delayed her growth at the same time..."

"That's..." Sam felt numb. "That's cruel. Prolonging her suffering, like this. She's so _sick_ she doesn't even cry anymore!"

"Then," said Bronzewing, "are you ready to let her go?"

Sam's heart went cold in her chest. She looked down at her baby girl. "You're not saying — "

"I delayed it just before the period where her illness would have gotten quite severe," said Bronzewing. "She would have died months ago if I had not intervened. Are you ready to let her go?"

"That's not fair." Sam's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"You're right." Bronzewing sighed. "It's not your responsibility to decide when she can die. No mother should ever have to choose when their child should — "

"Neither should you!" Sam snapped. "You're playing god with all of us, you're interfering with Mandy's life. Who's to say you're not interfering with _ours_? What is your purpose here, Horan?"

"Hora," said Bronzewing. "I'm actually a girl — "

"_Damn it, Bronze!_"

"You sound more like Nalice every day." Bronzewing sighed. He — _she_ moved to sit on the edge of the table. "I'm here to make the world a better place."

"That's not a good enough answer," said Sam.

"It will have to be," said Bronzewing.

Sam clung to her daughter. How could Bronzewing let her suffer? Tears filled her eyes. "It's not fair, what you're doing. It's not coincidence you're here. Is there another timeline? One where you didn't interfere? Did Mandy live in it?"

"No," said Bronzewing. She heaved a sigh. _She_. Dragons could switch their sex, then? But then, Nalice had mentioned something like that, talked about dragons who felt out of place with their birth sex and preferred to remain in the mortal sex they identified as... but then, wouldn't Bronzewing _want_ to be known as "he"? It was so confusing! "You made your way to your destiny in another way. In that one, Amandine died at birth."

Sam blinked. "Stillborn?"

"You were still on the streets, Lady Prestor never took you in," said Bronzewing. "The people with you, like Clarissa, barely managed to save your life, but couldn't revive her like Sister Sutton did in this one. You ended up finding... ah... another path."

Sam laughed. "I became a whore again, did I?"

"No," said Bronzewing. "Something better than that. In that timeline, you ended up serving the Black Dragonflight anyway. In this one, it just happened a year earlier."

"So she has to die because I'm going to become a Dragonsworn, does she?" said Sam bitterly. "Because my destiny doesn't have room for her."

"That's why I didn't tell you," murmured Bronzewing. "Because one day, you're going to realise that it's because Amandine gave her life for your future, and the guilt will tear you apart. Because no mother wants to appreciate life when her daughter's death led her there."

Sam snapped, "I'd give my own life and happiness if it meant — "

"I know," said Bronzewing. "And under other circumstances I'd have let it, but Onyxia will need you, and so will — "

"Onyxia is hardly important compared to my baby girl!" In Sam's arms, Mandy stirred slightly. Sam lowered her voice and hissed, "Why would I ever put her above her?"

"It's not just her life in the balance," said Bronzewing. "If Mandy survives, everything is lost. Everything I have worked hard to prevent will come to pass, and millions will die."

Sam's jaw dropped open. "You're not on an ordinary mission. You're here because of something big."

"Yes. Huge."

"And my baby girl..." Sam looked down at her. "Gods, is she going to end up being a dictator? Is she going to be responsible for all those deaths?"

"No," said Bronzewing. "I promise you. But some things are going to happen, and if she was alive, they wouldn't."

Sam closed her eyes. "Regardless, you can't ask me to be okay with this. I'm sorry for all those deaths but that doesn't mean I'm going to feel any less sad when my poor, baby girl..."

"I know," said Hora. "That's why I'm going to redo this meeting, as I've redone so many others, so that you will never have to live with the guilt."

"What?" Sam snapped up. "Don't you dare — "

-o-O-o-

"Hora," said Bronzewing. "I'm actually a girl — "

"_Damn it, Bronze!_"

"You sound more like Nalice every day." Bronzewing sighed. He — _she_ moved to sit on the edge of the table. "I'm here to make the world a better place."

"That's not a good enough answer," said Sam.

"It will have to be," said Bronzewing.

Sam clung to her daughter. How could Bronzewing let her suffer? Tears filled her eyes. "It's not fair, what you're doing. It's not coincidence you're here. Is there another timeline? One where you didn't interfere? Did Mandy live in it?"

Bronzewing hesitated for a moment, and Sam gazed at her imploringly.

"No," she said. "She died in that one, too."

-o-O-o-

"You should not have left through the front door when you were angry earlier." Kat turned a page of her book. "And on that note, please don't slam the bookcase."

She heard an annoyed sigh. She looked up to meet Bolvar's eyes and felt his exhaustion, the last dying embers of his anger. "Had a bad day?" she murmured.

He shook his head. "I've been thinking."

"Yes?" Kat put the book aside and frowned at him as she stood.

"I'm just going to leave you alone." His green eyes met hers. "It seems I fuck up everything I touch, and... well. You need your personal space, and it's about damn time I respected that. I'm sorry I never did, that I kept pushing like an idiot who couldn't take a hint. I'm sorry."

"Bolvar..." She sighed. "I didn't give the book to you to 'bribe' you. I gave it to you because I realised I've treated you badly. It did not even occur to me to 'buy' your forgiveness. I realised how distant I could be and I resolved to change that from today. I do not always connect the dots as others do. Please pardon me."

"Oh, Kat." He sighed. He did not sound convinced.

"I do not ask you to give me another chance," she said. "I do not ask you to allow me to prove myself, because I intend to whether you do or not."

He chuckled without humour. "Trust you to say something like _that_."

She touched his cheek. The comfort he derived from it rippled into her, relaxing her. How... _nice_. A curious, and yet sweet feeling. "Bolvar, have more faith in yourself. You have done all you can and much more than any man would have to make me... happy." What an odd thing to aim for. So fleeting. So fragile. A simple state of emotion that could be altered as soon as life threw a rock. "You fight battles few other men face, as a leader of the Alliance. You have done all you can do, and it is up to me to meet you halfway. You have faith that there is some goodness in me."

"That makes you sound as if you're awful to live with." He smirked wryly, looking at her at last. An odd warmth bloomed inside her at the look.

"I am, do not deny it," she said lightly. "But it shall be alright. You shall see for yourself."

But how? How could she keep the human happy? She didn't know how to maintain relationships with her own brood, let alone a _human_! How could she possibly do this?

As if he heard her, as if the bond made a subtle ripple of her thought into his, he took her chin in her fingers. She should be disgusted, but instead she a pleasant warmth. His arched an eyebrow as if he thought she would jerk away. He ran a thumb along her lips.

The touch comforted her.

She should be repelled by the human, because Black Dragons saw mortals as disgusting animals. But they weren't. They were every bit as intelligent as dragons, even if they did not live as long.

Her thoughts distracted her enough she froze in surprise when he brushed his lips against hers. But the contact was brief, and left her unsettled. She felt...

Oddly sad.

No disgust. No repulsion. Had it all gone?

He had a lot of courage and strength. He fought her influence, the voices in his head, and he argued with the Taint better than _she_ did, by the Titans, and she was ten thousand years old!

"Don't force it, Kat," he said, letting go of her chin. "It always leads to disaster."

"You doubt I'd follow through."

"Silly Onyx." He smiled weakly at her. "Putting yourself under pressure on my account will only make things worse. Just... just do what you always do. Be you. When I'm angry, that's my problem, not yours."

"Oh, by the _Light_, don't take this on yourself like some altruistic doormat!" She scowled. "I will not have you being unhappy on my account."

_This is disgustingly sentimental,_ said the Taint.

"Not at your expense, Kat."

"Nor mine at yours."

_Stop it,_ said the Taint. _This is revolting and not befitting a dragon of the Black Flight._

"Does it really have to be either or, Bolvar?" she said, smiling softly.

"You make me happy."

"You are lying again."

"Kat..."

She said nothing, wrapping her arms around him and resting against his chest to comfort him. His protests died, then, as his own came around to hold her.

_Appalling_, said the Taint.

_You sound like Anduin when I had to kiss her in front of him,_ Bolvar sounded amused.

She could not heal the human's wounds overnight. But that was alright. Every journey had a thousand small steps, after all. She pressed a kiss to his jaw, felt his comfort, his... _affection_. The way his pulse stuttered, the pleasant warmth inside him that felt addictive, something that blossomed or withered with her actions. Curious. She would explore it, but for now she had to keep the human reassured and happy. "I care for you more than I've ever cared for..." _anyone_, she'd almost said, but...

... hadn't she lied enough?

"More than I've ever cared for anyone here," she said instead.

There. That was true.

"Damn it, Kat, now I have something in my eye."

_Pardon?_ But when she blinked up at him his eyes were bright, and he smiled down at her. He laughed, then, but then it died, and an alarmed frown descended upon his features.

_Oh, gods,_ he thought. _I called her_ Onyx _earlier, and she didn't even notice —_

He _had?_ Oh, blast!

She held his eye. Without needing to touch her medallion, she fished for its connection to the staff. She brought a tendril of magic forward, and wove it into a veil she draped over his mind, leaving him blinking.

And something jerked between them.

She ripped her eyes away from his, but the damage was done. "Is something wrong?" she said.

"Ah," he said with a frown. "Have you ever had that moment where you were thinking of something _really_ important, and then inexplicably forget it as you're thinking it? I _hate_ it when that happens."

She'd never thought that maintaining eye contact while using the staff would make the bond _worse_! She even felt his heartbeat, now, even felt the swim of his thoughts. She put up wards around her mind as best as she could, but still felt Onyxia in the depths of his unconscious, felt watered-down versions of her emotions bleed into him. "Perhaps it wasn't that important, then."

"Happens to me more often than I like," he grunted. "You wouldn't believe it, but sometimes... no..." His forehead creased. "I always have this feeling that I've forgotten something..."

And there was the Taint, louder, bigger, and closer than ever. She had the impression of spiked tentacles, of eyes and mouths and claws, of fangs and slimy skin, and walls that pressed in on her, and...

And...

No.

It _couldn't_ be…

-o-O-o-

"Old Gods."

"I beg your pardon?" Hora looked up from her desk with a raised elven eyebrow. "Did you _break_ in here? I'm sure I locked the door! By the Titans, it's the middle of the night."

"I had Nalice pick the lock, then I sent her packing," said Katrana with a glare. "I wanted to speak to you about Old Gods. And something you once said."

"What did I say?" said Hora. "I say a lot of things. It's quite difficult to keep track of things I've said and ended up un-saying, you know."

"You once told me something about the fate of the world," said Katrana. "Specifically, the timeline this one branched off. You said that Alexstrasza turned on all the Aspects. Malygos, my father, the others... Something was wrong with her, and you didn't realise until it was too late. It was Old Gods, wasn't it?"

Hora stared at her. "How did you know?"

"Surely you knew I would figure it out?"

"I may be Bronze, but I'm not omniscient," said Hora. She placed her palms on her desk. "Tell me what's going on."

"I have a bond with Fordragon because of the medallion I use to keep him under control." No use mincing words. Hora knew why she was in Stormwind. "When it got strong enough I could hear my own unconscious through him, as if it were given a voice. I can barely control it sometimes. But I heard another voice. It was deep, sinister, and... it whispered things."

"Voices often do."

"This is not funny," Katrana spat. "All these years I was a hateful person, someone proud, someone obsessed with strength, and after this bond formed with Fordragon it became apparent that it wasn't me all along, it was this _thing_ talking to me. And I had to use some magic on Fordragon to stop him panicking today, _again_, and it amplified our bond, _again_, and... it brought us closer to the Taint, too. I had this impression of things like tentacles and claws and teeth, and..." She shook her head. "I remember hearing of Old Gods in human mythology, and they fit that exact description. They're said to whisper to — it has to be them. Last year I had a flashback of when this all began, when Deathwing used the Demon Soul during the War of the Ancients and hurt my mother, and I remember Romathis telling me of a voice in his head just as _something_ descended on my own." She met Hora eyes. "Why did I forget? How did _any_ of us forget?"

"Because it would have told you to." Hora leaned back on two legs of the chair. The dim candlelight underlined the lines of her elven frown.

Kat arched an eyebrow. "What?"

"The Old Gods don't use magic to corrupt," said Hora. "Well, they do. Telepathy. But beyond that, it's simple psychology. They fed your subconscious things... things that you would have reject at first. It'd, say, tell you that anyone who wore red was evil. And you'd know it's nonsense and don't believe it, but then your friend might attack you. And he might be wearing a red scarf at the time. And the Old Gods say, 'see, I told you it was evil!' and you still don't believe it. But then you get scammed by a man who wore a red belt, or a little girl cut your purse and it was red, and... it would show you all this 'evidence', and before long you'd be looking for more evidence, and you'd arrive at the seemingly logical conclusion: red is evil. The Old Gods tell you things, and prey on your fears, and 'show' you why they are right and what you once believed is wrong. And the worst thing is, you don't even hear them do it."

Kat stared at her. "Are you saying the Old Gods put the entire Flight under their control thanks to _words?_"

"No," said Hora. "But it was their chief weapon. The mind is a powerful thing, and they _knew_ how to use and manipulate it. They're older than the Aspects, they've had plenty of time to figure out how it works and how it can be exploited."

"And suddenly all my conditioning is undone?" Kat raised an eyebrow. "Ten thousand years of it?"

"It takes years to build a wonder," said Hora. "But under the right circumstances it can come down in a day. Here's a phenomenon our Flights are all familiar with: how is that a dragon, who changes very slowly over thousands of years, can change almost overnight around mortals?"

"I have... noticed that." Kat frowned. "My father warned me of it, years ago. It's the human body — "

"He was wrong," said Hora. "It's because of cultural influence. When you were with the Black Dragonflight all your beliefs were constantly reinforced because people around you believed the same thing, and we live so long we change slowly compared to a mortal. But everything is upside down in Stormwind, and so socially, nothing reinforces that anymore. Slowly your barriers break down and you think it's alright, because there's no other dragons around to anchor you. You're pretending to be human, and part of that means understanding why they think the way you do, and so you gradually take on their characteristics." Hora put down the quill she held and clasped her hands. "Have you ever heard of 'fake it 'til you make it'? You're faking being human, so you're _turning_ human. And because we live so long, it looks instant to us, but the process takes months or years." She smiled. "You were changing before I even got here, and the Old Gods were the only things stopping you from shifting completely."

Kat rubbed her temples.

"And awareness helps, too," said Hora. "Awareness is the first step towards change. If Bolvar's mind became a lens to which you could see this Old Gods influence... it's only natural you jerked away from something so foreign, so frightening. And so you changed even more quickly, because it was they who molded the person you became."

How _weak_.

And how ironic, that would be exactly what the Taint would say! "But how can the Old Gods be influencing us?" said Kat. "The Titans were said to have locked them all away! It's why they created the Aspects to begin with, because they needed a... a jailer..."

Oh.

_No._

"Gods," said Kat quietly. "My father is — "

"Alive," said Hora. "I'll tell you that just to reassure you that they're not about to burst out of Azeroth's crust any minute from now. He's biding his time and undercover, but alive."

It should have brought her relief, but all she felt was dread. "They were using us, all along."

"They live to create chaos," said Hora. "They could do it either by having your father killed and breaking loose, or manipulating him into creating so much chaos that someone else kills him. It's win/win for them."

"This is too much to take in." Kat rubbed the bridge of her nose. "How can they even speak to us?"

"Because..." Hora smiled softly. "Your father was made out of metal and clay before he was brought to life. The Black Dragons _are_ the earth. But the Old Gods had already learned to manipulate some of the earth that imprisoned them, and because of how connected you are to the earth..."

"I see," said Kat quietly.

"And the Heart of Earth didn't help, either," said Hora. "It's a powerful Titanic artefact that is, quite literally, the key. If it has no host, they will break free."

"The Heart of Earth." Kat stared at her. "That sounds familiar."

"The Hearts were bestowed upon the Aspects at their creation," said Hora. "The Heart of Magic, the Heart of Life, Heart of the Dream, Heart of Time, Heart of Earth. When Malygos died they took the Heart of Magic from his body to pass on to the new Aspect."

"So, simply put, as long as my father is alive..."

"Not quite so simple," said Hora. "We forget things, because we live so long. Even a young, ninety-year-old human might not remember their twentieth birthday, and that's only seventy years of a difference! The Aspects never saw a threat from the Old Gods because they were before the Aspects' time, and so they faded into myth and legend when they forgot. The Heart of Earth made him hear them. He never realised the Old Gods could speak like that, he thought they were just voices in his head at first, that he was insane, but because they spoke to him so often, they broke him down eventually."

Like Bolvar.

She felt sick.

"Even an Aspect has fears, resentments and flaws," said Hora. "And the Old Gods nurtured them all. When he created the Demon Soul is when it all came to a head. Using him as a proxy, they strengthened their connection through the earth to the Black Dragonflight."

"But the Demon Soul was destroyed!"

Hora sighed. "Magic does not always work that way. If you use a hammer to build a house and then destroy the hammer, the house won't suddenly collapse. Magic, as practiced by the much younger races, works more as the walls of a house. Get rid of the walls, the roof will fall down. But when you're powerful enough it's only a tool, and not a support. And the Old Gods are powerful enough."

"And so we're under their thrall, their _taint_." Onyxia ran a hand through her hair.

She felt tired. So tired. The child stirred within her, before it gave her a good kick. Kat scowled down at it, before glancing back to Hora. "How can I even start fixing this? What must I do?"

"Nothing," said Hora.

"_What_?"

"Not now," said Hora. "Your time at Stormwind will come to an end, but not yet. Your relationship with Bolvar, Sam's training, Mandy, Nalice, your magical bond with the Highlord, your baby — all of it, _everything_, is groundwork to prepare you, to shape you into the person you have to be to defeat them. And even then... you're still going to have to undo their conditioning on your own."

"I'm fighting Old Gods," said Kat flatly. "Why me?"

"Not exactly," said Hora. "But it's... accurate enough. If anyone outside of your Flight ends up winning against them then you may as well have lost. You have to redeem yourselves before the world will stop hunting you and your kin. And do you see any other Black Dragon being conscious enough to throw off the corruption and fight back?"

In the silence, Kat stared down at her hands.

Quietly, she said, "Yes. One."

"Sabellian." Hora rested her elbows on the desk. "I tried. But the time wasn't right. I ended up going back and wiping everything I tried from the timeline and came back here to try again."

"I can't do this alone," said Kat. "You are the only other who knows."

"You won't be alone." When Hora's hand touched Kat's, she jerked it back. But Hora smiled, no hurt in her eyes. "I promise you. You will have allies other than me."

"I can only think of one whose help would be valuable." Kat crossed her arms. "Is my brother alive, Hora?"

"I can't tell you that."

"But — "

"I can't tell you," said Hora. "If you think you have a definite answer, whether I tell the truth or lie, that will change your actions. You're not supposed to know, you can't know." He stood. "This is enough, I think. You've still got some time before the child is born, and longer yet before you're ready. Just... sit back. Anduin's birthday's coming up, isn't it? By then the child will have grown too large for you to step outside."

"Then tell me at least one thing," said Kat. "In the original timeline, did Sabel survive?"

"He was different in that one, and he didn't have a limp either," said Hora. "Just because he had a certain fate in that timeline doesn't mean he had the same one in this one. Maybe he died then and survived now. Maybe he survived then and died now. Maybe he died in both."

"But did he _live_?" Kat's frown deepened.

Hora frowned, drumming her fingers on the desk. The candle had shrunk slightly in the time Kat had been here. The trees rustled in the night wind outside.

"In the original timeline..." Hora smiled. "Yes. He did."

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ I see a few new readers have been crawling out of the woodwork! Hi!_

**_JustMe:_**_ I missed you! I'm sorry. There shall be a climactic event, but I really struggled with the build up. Next chapter you'll see, I promise! How many words do you prefer in a chapter? I try to keep above 5,000 words. (This one's seven and a half thousand.) It's difficult to find a good place to cut off without being too short or too long._

**_Zeitlos:_**_ I wrote most of this story procrastinating on homework. Thank you!_

**_Seripithus:_**_ Thanks!_

**_Skarlette:_**_ Hello! It made me really happy to read that. :D Thanks so much!_

**_A Reviewer:_**_ A mecha, eh? It's such a shame I'll never actually get to incorporate all the crazy stuff people want Sabel to have. I think he'd be a damn good engineer if you could pry him from his alchemy._


	36. In Mourning

_**A/N:**__Looks like we're back to Sunday updates. Let's pretend it's Sunday where I live. Apologies for how long this took! This is probably going to be the longest chapter, because I really started to run out of steam here. I think I'll stick with 5-10K length chappies from now on._

_Thanks to **Coincidencless** for catching those embarrassing spelling mistakes!_

_**There is now a non-spoilery character list!**__ Check out the link in my profile._

_**Warnings:**__ Contains transphobia (from Nalice, who else?) and sexual triggers._

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

* * *

In the aftermath of the Second War, the first diplomat from Lordaeron had brought over a tiny sapling in its pot, a gift from King Terenas. As the Stonemasons built Stormwind around them, Katrana Prestor watched as Tiffin and Varian Wrynn planted the tree on their wedding day.

In latitudes this low, few trees ever shed their leaves, but in winter Terenas' Tree relinquished its green cloak as if it still lived in the chilling northlands. As it grew it had been a symbol of hope. Now it was a sad memory of a kingdom since destroyed.

Now the leaves waited for the autumn to turn them red and gold, but this year Katrana would not watch.

She sighed, lowering the feather duster in her hand and staring at the book shelf in front of her. Behind her, she sensed Bolvar crossing his arms, looking smug. "You're nesting."

She clucked. "I do not nest, I clean." She scowled and shunted a few books to where they belonged. Fordragon _never_ returned them to their proper places.

"You look down." Bolvar approached from behind and wrapped his arms around her expanded waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. Ever since she had disowned the voice of the Old God she had allowed his affection. "You won't be shut up forever, Kat."

"I have plenty to read." She touched his hand, feeling a spike of warmth in Bolvar's consciousness at the contact. "Though, I do wish to tell Nalice of my condition."

Bolvar sighed. "I suppose she'd find out sooner or later."

"You should give her a chance," said Kat. "Was it not you who told me that everyone has their reasons? Sam _did_ forgive her. Nalice has not hurt her again."

_Sometimes, I think Sam _fancies_ her,_ said Bolvar's mind. _Ugh, fine._ "I'm not giving her more chances if she acts out again." He let go of her. "I'll leave you be, my dear. I have to get to my work."

_But she's right, isn't she?_ He thought._ Everyone's fighting their own battles. I wonder what happened to Nalice that she acts like that, too..._

Kat smiled. That was the kind-hearted human she knew. "Do be sure to wind up the nobility for me. I dread to think what they may get up to in my absence. Tell them I'll infect them with this horrible disease they think I have if they act out, mmm?"

"I'll keep them in line for you." By the other book case, Bolvar winked, before he slipped down the passage. _Hmm,_ he thought,_ I should think about getting Anduin a present, too..._

Perhaps, one day, he could know the truth about her. If he knew she had hidden her secret all this time to protect her children...

He would understand.

The click of her front door made her start.

Onyxia sighed. "I do believe _knocking_ is proper etiquette within human lands."

"Ah, yes, and we are all human here." Nalice slipped into the room. Jettion fluttered behind her. "It is _so_ kind of you to ask him to give me his approval, though I have no use for it."

"I would rather you two did not clash." Onyxia frowned at Nalice. "You have been gone for some time. Has Omnarion talked?"

"Both dragonspawn denied any knowledge of Leonardo Withering's involvement in the Winter's Veil 'assassination.'" Nalice canted her head. "Has the Highlord turned up anything?"

"No. The Brotherhood have denied everything, and there is no evidence to place them under arrest, so no success."

"I even took the liberty of contacting Romathis once I was confident they would not talk, and he was even more perplexed than they were."

"_What?_ Do you fail to understand that slinging accusations poses a serious _risk_?"

"I have been a diplomat for four thousand years," said Nalice. "I know how to word such things. In his answer, I smelt genuine surprise. He did not know."

Onyxia gave a shrug. "I am unresolved about Evenian's supposed innocence."

"I dislike him," said Nalice. "He smelt of surprise, but... he _does_ possess the power to change his own scent. We have no guarantee he's one of _ours_. If he can change his scent, it is doubtless he has the ability to change his hair colour too."

"Do you think Evenian could be an agent of the Bronze's?" said Onyxia. "He has been here for years. She could easily have transported him back in time, and we would be none the wiser."

Nalice snorted. "Chromie? Doubtful. He seems to be alone."

"She. And in this stage of her life she is known as Hora."

Nalice rolled her eyes. "He smells male."

"And she is female," said Onyxia. Though, Nalice spoke the truth...

Curious, how a several-century-year-old Bronze could not change her scent, and yet a dragonspawn, who lived two hundred years at most, could. And who was to say Romathis hadn't changed his either to fake surprise? Onyxia had never bothered to learn how, but Romathis could have.

And Evenian...

"Why would Evenian show his hand, I wonder, to be so open of Romathis's treachery?" Onyxia frowned. Jettion stuck his snoz into the feather duster and sneezed. "A logical reason evades me."

"Simple. He wishes to gloat."

"I find it odd that a mere dragonspawn would have power that Hora does not, that a mere dragonspawn would know how to bake _cake_..."

"'Tis not hard to learn," snorted Nalice. Both dragons jumped when the feather duster fell onto a pile of books with a _clack_. Jettion blew at the wisp on his snout.

"Evenian works in the kitchens." Onyxia ignored her son. "I have hardly ever met a dragonspawn trained in the culinary arts. Most prefer to eat raw. How would he know how to cook with the expertise of a Stormwind chef? The Suicide Squad were hatched and trained for this mission, but nobody instructed them on how to _cook._" Jettion fell onto the pile of books with a _thud_, scattering some across a worn patch in the carpet. Onyxia stooped, with some difficulty, to tidy the books. "And there is no doubt Evenian is far older than they are. Though, I do suppose it was possible he was employed as a spy by my father in Lordaeron..."

"Are you certain he is not of _your_ brood?" said Nalice. "Ebonaria informed me in the past that the dragonspawn often take their young into Theramore to educate them on mortal culture, in case the need should ever arise."

Onyxia murmured, "One does not have to identify with another gender, as Hora does, to take on a mortal form of the opposite sex..." She finished stacking the books, and glared at Jettion as he looked at them with a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I shall think more on it. I must get back to cleaning."

But for once in her life Nalice wore a worried frown.

Onyxia picked up the duster. "What is it?"

Nalice hesitated. "It regards the Dark Portal. After my visit to Romathis I flew to check on the demons."

Onyxia sat back down on the chaise and Jettion scurried up her body as if she was a tree. "I see, what is your news?"

Nalice clenched her hands. Onyxia watched the knuckles turn white before she hid them behind her back. "The demons have scattered."

Silence, except for the trill of birds outside and Jettion's breath in Onyxia's ear. "What else?"

"Nothing," said Nalice. "Whatever they did, it failed. The portal is still closed. A lot of demons have gone."

Why did Onyxia's throat feel so tight? Why did she feel so cold, so numb? "Are you _certain_?"

"I saw it with my own eyes," said Nalice.

_Impossible_. Onyxia's fists clenched on her knees. In the original timeline, Sabel had survived, and he must have come home, and...

And...

"Let me ask you something, Nalice." Did Onyxia's voice sound as hollow as she felt? Her niece arched her eyebrows. "You expected me to fail, did you not?"

"It is hardly my position to gauge chances of success."

"Clever answer." Onyxia leaned back to get a good look at her niece. "We live in an alternate timeline, did you know?"

"Given the Bronze's presence, I suspected as such."

"You came here to find a disposable Dragonsworn," said Onyxia. "You wanted to send her into Outland when the Dark Portal reopened, into danger, to establish contact with those who were abandoned_._ And it _did_ reopen, in the original timeline..." But what went wrong, in this one? What had changed? "The Bronze told me that my brother survived, and how else would she have known? Perhaps Sam met him when she went to Outland. Perhaps he would even have taken over her training himself. But..."

In that timeline, Sabel didn't have a limp. In that timeline, he wouldn't have been universally _loathed_ by the entire Flight for having a disability. In that timeline, if a gronn confronted him, he could have escaped with his life...

In that timeline, as Deathwing's son, his combat ability would have been on par with the elite fighters. The ones who had _died_.

"But in _this_ world? That would not come to pass. It would never have come to pass. Because in this timeline, he would not have stood a chance against the gronn."

The realisation crushed her.

"In this timeline..." Her voice shook, underneath Nalice's scornful sneers. "Sam will never meet him. Because in this timeline, Sabellian died long ago."

-o-O-o-

For the two weeks approaching Anduin's birthday, Bolvar watched Katrana wither away. When he came home in the evenings he often found her on a chair by the window, gazing towards the mountains separating Elwynn from the Burning Steppes. Being cooped up bothered her, that was obvious enough, but never before had he seen her so _sad_.

He cheered her as best as he could. He spoke about the child, though never mentioned names. When she was ready, she'd talk about it. He smuggled her food from the kitchens, brought her books from the store to the snarky commentary of the draconic headvoice, and played chess with her in the evenings.

She complimented his taste, buried herself in books, talked and laughed with him when they played. And yet, that sadness lingered about her eyes.

"If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here," he told her.

She gave him a grateful smile, but did not talk. _In time_, he told himself. He had to be patient. Perhaps the issue was not that she didn't trust him, but that she simply preferred to bear her burdens alone.

On the night of Anduin's birthday dinner, after the servants had set up places at the table in his quarters and gone, he squirrelled her through the passage. She stepped into the living room, the one he barely used, and together they found Anduin bouncing on the spot. "I'm so _hungry_!"

"Have patience," said Bolvar. "And keep quiet. Maeqa and Foris are outside in the hall, remember."

Sam appeared through the front door not long after, and gave them all sad smiles. "Happy birthday, Anduin," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't say it earlier, I was with the little one."

"How is she?" said Anduin.

"I don't think it's long now." Sam knitted her fingers together, her hair falling over her eyes. "Ah, Katrana, you're looking well. Nalice has been keeping me posted! It's not long now, is it?"

"No, 'tis not." Katrana regarded her with a regal nod. Sam grinned. Bolvar hid a smirk.

Anduin threw his arms around Katrana and rested his head against her stomach. Katrana flinched, Sam winced, and Bolvar resisted the urge to touch her hand in comfort. "Anduin, that's rude."

"Kick me in the head, kick me in the head!" said Anduin.

Kat recovered herself. "Anduin, the young one has many years ahead of them to kick you. There is no need to provoke violence in them so young."

"I hope it's a boy!" Anduin peeled himself from her at Bolvar's stern glare. "Sorry, Kat, I shouldn't have done that. Anyway! I hope I get a little brother!"

_Me too_, said Onyxia.

_Hey_, said Bolvar. _Who said you were invited?_

"My parents hoped for a girl more than anything," said Bolvar. "So much they didn't even pick out a boy's name." _Hint hint, Katrana._ "I was a bit of a shock."

"That explains a lot," said Anduin, eyeing the feast on the table with a longing gaze mirroring the whelp that fluttered beside him. Bolvar half expected the boy to start drooling at any moment.

"Hey," Bolvar grinned. "Don't make fun of my name. Now we're all here, how about we start eating before it gets cold, yes? Happy birthday, Andy!"

Anduin didn't need telling twice.

Even Sam tucked into the massive meal in front of them, though she raised an eyebrow. "No birthday cake?"

Bolvar pretended not to notice Anduin trying to feed Jettion chicken. _I don't blame him_, Onyx commented, _it tastes awful._ "He had cake for breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Sam smirked in amusement, and Bolvar was struck by how alike Nalice she had become. "Well, birthday privileges, I suppose."

Jettion sniffed the chicken and hissed.

"It's not poisoned, silly whelp," said Anduin. "Otherwise the taster would've died. You know, I'd feel guilty if they _did_ die, 'cause it's not their fault if someone wants to kill me..."

"I'd rather the taster died than you," said Sam. Bolvar winced. However true, what a _cold_ thing to say! "I haven't tried the chicken yet, how is it? The potatoes are good."

"It's an odd dish." Bolvar forked another piece of chicken into his mouth. "It's a new recipe, I hear. Maybe it's got too much vegetable in the sauce for him or something."

Jettion choked on a potato and coughed it over the floor. Sam sighed as Anduin stooped with his napkin, looking sheepish.

"Pardon me." Katrana rose from the table. "Bathroom."

"I wish there was leftover birthday cake." Anduin sighed. "I ate the rest of it for lunch."

"It's a miracle you weren't sick," Sam tutted. Bolvar's chest twinged.

"I got lots of practice when I snuck into the kitchens and ate chocolate!" said Anduin, until Bolvar glared at him. "That is, hypothetically, I could have got a lot of practice sneaking into the kitchens. Only I didn't, because I don't sneak into the kitchens, at all, because that is not becoming of a prince. So Sam, what kind of things do you do with Nalice?"

Sam shrugged as she swallowed to speak. "She's adopted me as a kind of little sister. She trains me in combat after the infirmary closes, or she bullies someone in the Suicide Squad into doing it when they're off-duty."

Bolvar sighed. "Trust her."

"She's been a lot better lately," said Sam. "I think she's lonely. She often takes me into the library just to read about myths and legends and things. She's tried to teach me other languages, too. Dwarvish, for example. Apparently my accent is horrid."

Bolvar squeezed his eyes. His vision blurred, and the torches on the wall wore halos. Odd. He rubbed an eye with his first two fingers, but it didn't improve. The room felt hot...

_Poison_, his mind whispered.

It couldn't be. Maeqa had tasted the food herself and pronounced it safe. Anduin had cleared his plate and reached for seconds, and looked fine, and he was so small if there were poison...

What was going on?

He waved his hand under the table in a quick, subtle _cleanse_, but the spell had no effect.

Huh.

"Are you alright, Anduin?"

Anduin blinked at Bolvar. "Fine, why do you ask?"

As Anduin put more chicken onto his plate, a piece fell off onto the floor. Jettion recoiled. "Don't eat anything." The world swam around Bolvar. "Sam, get Maeqa to send for Horan Bronzewing immediately."

"Gods," breathed Sam. "You must be allergic!" And without another word she pushed back her chair and bolted from the room.

_Poison_, hissed Onyxia. _I can't... help me..._

_It can't be poison, otherwise Anduin and Maeqa would have dropped!_ Bolvar's head pounded, and his stomach seized up in cramps that had him doubled over. The world swam more, all the colours blurring together. He fell out of his chair. Anduin cried out for Katrana, kneeling beside him. _But why did Jettion react that way...?_

Jettion let out a mournful howl. The world went dark around the edges...

The headache vanished. Room temperature returned to normal. The world went still and solid again. Bolvar frowned, pulling himself up into a sitting position as the cramps died to see Anduin's panicked, tear-streaked face staring at him.

"I'm alright?" said Bolvar. "What the hell was that...?"

"It's Auntie Kat!" Anduin's breath came out in sobs. "She's — "

As if he'd never been sick, Bolvar bolted to his feet and sprinted to the bathroom. The open door revealed dancing orange light reflected by the mirror, the torch on the wall casting out heat, and on the floor —

"Kat!" Bolvar fell to his knees. He lifted her head onto his lap, her hair strewn across the cold tile. Her face was whiter than porcelain and hot to the touch. He opened her mouth and peered down her throat, but in the light he couldn't see if it had swelled or not, but she still breathed, thank the Light. His heart threatened to stop. "Gods, Anduin, are you alright?"

She had to wake up. She _had_ to. Hot tears blurred his vision.

"I'm completely fine!" said Anduin. "I don't feel unwell at all! What's happened, Bolvar?"

The front door opened and running footsteps grew louder. Bolvar shifted to the side as Horan Bronzewing bent beside her. "What happened?" the healer demanded. His hand lit up with Holy Light as he opened Katrana's mouth. In Bolvar's panic, he hadn't thought of that. "Gods, it's all burnt. Has she eaten anything corrosive?"

"She only ate the food that was on the table," said Sam.

As Horan tilted Kat's head back, Anduin said, "Bolvar was sick, too, but he's fine now. Is she okay?"

"Bring me her plate," said Horan, turning Katrana's head to the side. Sam disappeared. Horan pressed an ear to Katrana's chest. Never before had she looked so frail. "Her heartbeat's going at a hundred miles an hour."

"Will the child be alright?" said Bolvar. "Shouldn't we make her throw it up?" He squeezed her hand, willing her to respond, but nothing happened.

"She's already been sick, by the smell of it." Only when Hora spoke did Bolvar notice the foul stink in the air. "And if I'm right, it must've been fine until it reacted with the acid in her stomach, then it would've eaten away at..." Horan rummaged in his bag, pulling out a syringe and a vial of blue-green liquid. "You're not supposed to throw up if you've eaten something corrosive." Horan filled the syringe, tapping it to get out the air bubbles. "Squeeze her arm for me, right there... that's good." Horan slipped the syringe back into his bag, taking out a vial. "Hold her head... yes, like this, just rub the throat there, we need her to swallow this without choking her... good, good... Ah, Sam, you're... let me take a look."

He took the plate of food from Sam, peering at it. He sniffed, wrinkled his nose and shoved it back in Sam's hands where Sam barely caught it. His hand lit up again as he inspected Katrana's throat. "I was wrong, that's not burns, those are hives. It's an allergic reaction, if a severe one."

Katrana's pale face held a purple tinge, and her arm felt rough under his hands. Bolvar stared. "What's happening to her _skin_?"

"It's a reaction to the troll's blood potion I injected her with," said Horan. He lay a glowing hand over Katrana's stomach. "It's conflicting with the chemicals her body's releasing to combat the allergy."

Gods, healers never made sense. "Will the child be alright? She's not exactly of prime childbearing age as it is…"

"It will be." Horan gazed down at her. "See, her breathing's slowing. The medicine I've given her should help her until it's out of her system. For now, let's move her onto a bed."

With Bolvar's help, Horan moved Katrana to the bed that Bolvar never slept in. Her skin had returned to a soft, pale pallor, and her breathing had slowed. Bolvar tucked the blankets around her. She almost looked dead...

_No_. That could never happen. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. _Light. Please don't take her from me yet._

"I had a similar reaction," said Bolvar. "It was getting severe, I almost fainted and I was feverish, but it lifted suddenly."

"That's a rare reaction," said Horan, rummaging through his bags for another vial. Sam and Anduin hovered by the door. "But it happens. Sometimes the body can shake things off so quickly it feels instant. Of course, it _isn't_, it simply feels like it."

What, was that even possible? But fel, Horan was the medical expert, not Bolvar. "Are you sure it's not poison?"

"Sam and I ate the same food you did," said Anduin. "And we're fine... where's Sam?"

"It was a very intense and rare allergic reaction you both had," said Horan. "Nothing more."

If Sam had vanished to keep out of the way, he was grateful for it. Bolvar sat by Kat's side, taking her white hand into his. With the other, he stroked her forehead. She still felt feverish. "The worst of it is over, then?"

"Yes, but I think I'll observe her overnight," said Horan. "She'll feel ill for a few days, but she will recover."

"You are sure?"

Horan smiled. "I'm confident."

-o-O-o-

"Dragonbane?" said Nalice. "Impossible! If it were Dragonbane, she would be dead!"

Sam cradled the stitch in her side. Her mouth felt dry, her legs sore from running. "The Bronze treated her. He... or was he a she? He could've easily gotten a cure from the future, couldn't he? But it had to have been Dragonbane, because Bolvar ended up fine, and Anduin was fine, but Jettion was repulsed by it... and you told me Onyxia's senses were dulled, so she wouldn't have been able to recognise its smell! And Bolvar... he acted strangely. He just recovered, all of a sudden."

"It must have been the connection between him and Onyxia." Nalice crossed her arms. "Do not fear."

"_Connection?_"

"Dragonbane kills in less than a minute_._" Nalice scowled at her. "The only reason she could have avoided dying instantly was if there was a variable to slow absorption that we are not aware of. But when Hora is involved, one never knows... still, I believe I know who is responsible. Evenian is awfully obvious, because he is stationed in the kitchens. Come with me, we have evidence to find."

Sam said nothing as Nalice tossed her a dagger, catching it by the hilt with razor sharp reflexes. "Who are we visiting?"

"Captain Adam Rivers." Nalice pulled her cloak around her. "Because I very much doubt Evenian is going to talk. But Omnarion... I want you to search his desk for any communication. In any case, we must be ready to fly. If Onyxia perishes, we must be prepared to disappear very quickly."

It was all Sam could do, with a parched throat and a painful stitch in her side, to catch up to Nalice's long strides as they converged on Stormwind Keep. When the guards stopped them at the hall to the throne room, Sam wondered if she imagined the trepidation coming from Nalice as she lowered her hood and identified herself. Sam held her breath. Had Onyxia died? Were the guards about to have them both killed?

"Lady Prestor's under quarantine," said one of the guards. Sam's shoulders slumped in relief.

"I know that, idiot," said Nalice. "I have a late appointment with her healer to hear of her progress. Now stand aside!"

The guards glanced at each other. Sam recognised a _gods, they're definitely related_ look when she saw one.

When the guards waved them past, Sam followed Nalice through a path in the gardens and along the wall of the Keep, before they stopped beside a crawling ivy. Nalice pulled a long, metal rod from deep within one cloak pocket and passed it to Sam. "You will need this. And put _this_ on, and don't take it off until you're inside." Nalice held out an eyepatch. "Second floor window, right there."

Sam stared up at the shuttered window, placing the rod between her teeth as she tied on the eyepatch. She took it out, the metallic tang still on her tongue. "I'm not sure that ivy's going to hold me. And what about the guards?"

"That is why you shall be careful, no?" Nalice turned a glare on her.

Sam stepped closer to the ivy, eyeing it uncertainly. "What if there's spiders?"

"What would you rather face?" said Nalice. "Spiders or _me_?"

It was sad that Onyxia wasn't there to recommend the spiders.

Sam opened her mouth, closed it, and nodded. "Right. I hope these things hold."

"I shan't catch you if you fall, now _go_!" Nalice glared. "Be silent, the patrol will be around the corner shortly. People rarely look up, so you should be safe. If you are caught, do not bother fighting, _run_."

Sam didn't need telling twice. Her fingers knotted into the thickest ivy branches as she pulled herself up unsteadily. Her feet scrabbled for holds. Some branches peeled away from the stone, but she kept to the main trunk that held firm. _Things_ crawled over her hands. In the darkness the silver of the moon reflected off webs.

Below, she heard the tinkle of chain mail. She froze. A guard came around the corner below her, patrolling, but true to Nalice's word he did not look up. Sam's cloak camouflaged her against the leaves in the grey night, and she didn't release her breath until he was far around the corner.

Sam reached the second floor window. The shutters blocked the sill.

Now what?

She glanced back at the grass beneath her, and promptly regretted it. Having only one eye, with the leather patch keeping her right one blind, did not help. Nalice was still gone. The rod...

Of course.

She leaned over as far as she dared, right hand clinging to the ivy, the left holding the rod. She inserted it in the tiny gap between the shudders, willing it to be silent as she flicked it up and down. Dragons had uncannily keen hearing, what about dragon_spawn_? She did not look forward to being on the wrong side of Adam Rivers.

She met resistance. Good. She flicked the rod upwards and pulled. The catch inside bounced upwards and the shutter drifted open with a creak that split the air like thunder. Sam cringed.

_Remember_, Nalice had told her once_, if you make a noise once you may still be safe depending on the proximity of people to the noise. If they hear a noise once and they are not in the room, or are otherwise engrossed, the individual may listen for it again instead of investigating._

Would dragonspawn be the same? Should she strike like lightning, or wait?

Without much more thought she slipped the rod into a pocket and, with one last check for encroaching guards, she swung out onto the sill, hanging by her hands. She kicked backwards as far as she could, using the momentum to pull her upper body onto the sill. Another kick had her perched upon it.

She dropped silently into the room and closed the shutters behind her, leaving her in pitch darkness. She pulled off the eye patch.

As if she had activated Gnommish night goggles, the room suddenly appeared to be bathed in grainy, grey light. Now blind in her _left_ eye, she could see every tiny detail with her right.

Impressive. Sam would never have thought to use an eyepatch like this on her own.

She stayed on the balls of her feet, keeping her legs bent as she moved throughout the room. She stuck to carpet when she could, lifting her footfalls to avoid scuffing. When she entered rooms she twisted door handles as quietly as she could manage before slipping inside.

She found Rivers' bedroom soon enough. He slept with a thick quilt covering him, as if the late August night were too cold for him.

His desk stood pressed against the wall.

Right next to his bed.

Crap.

She stepped over, her breath held as she carefully pulled out a drawer. It seemed to take an eternity, but she had to be patient and keep the noise to a minimum. Rushing this could get her killed...

There, inside. Documents. What was she supposed to look for? Something in Draconic, no doubt, but if she paused to rustle through everything the dragonspawn could wake.

She would have to take it all, then.

Carefully, she eased her fingers deep into the drawer. But the pages rustled in spite of her best intentions. Her heart thundered.

Rivers stirred.

Now or never.

She jerked her hood over her face. She took the envelopes from the drawer and stuffed them into her shirt as fast as she could. She cleaned out the drawer just in time for Rivers to go, "... Eh?" He bolted upright. "Hey!"

Sam ran. In a flash she'd torn through the living room and out the window and —

She was on the second floor!

_Shit!_

In the split second she spent suspended in the air, clutching her shirt, she leaned forward. The balls of her feet connected painfully with the ground and she tucked her head in as she rolled across the damp grass. Inertia propelled her back to her feet, but she barely had a second to feel relieved before she heard an, "Oi! Thief!"

Oh fuck, the guard had seen her!

She dashed across the grass, bowing her head to prevent her hood from flying off, glad for the cloak that obscured her form. The letters rustled in her shirt as she pressed her hands against them, terrified that even one would slip out.

With her tiny mana pool she activated the spell Nalice had taught her in case the guard brought out the dogs. She'd just have to remember to refresh the spell frequently. Any scent given off during that time would be undetectable for twenty four hours, long enough for the dogs to be brought out only to find no trace, but the spell itself only lasted a minute.

And with all the energy she could muster, she fled.

-o-O-o-

An hour later found her back at Nalice's abode. Sam slipped through the unlocked door and found Nalice sitting at the table. She brought out all the letters. "Ah," said Nalice. "Good. Come here, we shall sort through them. Look for runes in Draconic, we're looking for orders... ugh, your human stench is all over them."

Sam collapsed into the chair, and the two of them began to sort. Anything that looked like it was in Common was tossed aside.

"Here we go," said Nalice. Sam recognised the Draconic alphabet. She knew its phonetics off by heart, thanks to Nalice, but did not yet have much of a vocabulary in the language. "Here we..." She frowned. "Ah, Evenian, you may be able to fool a dragonspawn, but you cannot fool me. Look at this, Samantha."

Sam bit back the twinge of annoyance that came with her full name, and took the letter Nalice held out. It consisted of a single paragraph. "I... can't read Draconic."

"It reads, 'From now on my orders go to Evenian. You shall follow his instruction to the letter.' It is signed by Romathis. Dated in March." Nalice sat back. "'Tis clever, he managed to fake the handwriting so well that if I'd been noseblind, I would have not known the difference. No wonder the dragonspawn was fooled, however stupid he was not to question it. But then, he is young for a Scalebane."

"So how can you tell the difference?" Sam peered at the runes.

"It has the scent of three individuals on it," said Nalice. "You, Omnarion, and... Evenian. Not Romathis."

"Evenian's been intercepting Romathis's orders?"

"Indeed," said Nalice. "And why would he, unless he had motives that would conflict with Romathis's? In addition, he could very well have intercepted any communication from Romathis to Onyxia, if he ever grew suspicious. Which he has not, because otherwise he would have come over personally."

Sam's jaw dropped. "So Romathis is innocent."

"He has led the Black Dragonflight for twenty years along Onyxia's side." Nalice glared at the letters on the desk. "Twenty years is but the blink of an eye to us, we can bide our time for centuries before we make a move. But Romathis has shown nothing but loyalty to his sister up until now, however much he disagrees with her. I was a fool not to have thought to check Omnarion's records beforehand, but instead I persisted on a wild goose chase. But I believe I understand what is going on now... have I ever told you of how leadership has been decided in the Black Dragonflight?"

"You've only switched leaders once," said Sam. "When Deathwing disappeared."

"Yes," said Nalice. "The strongest dragon is the leader, or so the Flight would like to believe. In truth, it seems leadership is hereditary. Given that Romathis and Onyxia are Deathwing's eldest living children that were not beyond the Dark Portal, more dragons were willing to back them than their rivals, though it came to pass Romathis and Onyxia were forced to aid one another to fight off competition. But let us test your intelligence, Samantha. What could a dragon have to gain by turning the leadership against each other?"

"Well, it'd start civil war, for one," said Sam. "And there's not very many of you to begin with. Are they _trying_ to make you all extinct?"

"Use your _brains_, Sam."

"... I guess not," said Sam. "If Onyxia thought Romathis betrayed her, she could easily step aside and let the humans march into the Steppes and take him out for her, couldn't she?"

"And?"

Sam frowned. "If Romathis survived, he'd fight back. And you mentioned before that the Wyrmbog can only defend itself against humans, not aerial attackers. Any survivors from the war in the Burning Steppes would immediately seize upon her Brood and wipe _them_ out... so it's death all around. And there'd be so few dragons left that whoever Evenian's _really_ serving could easily step up, with little resistance, to take control."

"And who do you estimate it to be?"

"It would be someone high up in the hierarchy," said Sam. "That way most dragons would pretty much default to following them. Someone related to Deathwing... Is it you, Nalice?"

"Yes," Nalice drawled. "I have _everything_ to gain by allowing my entire race to kill each other." She glowered. "No, _idiot!_ I am speaking of my cousin, Ebonaria. In addition to that, I believe she _is_ Evenian."

"So he's not dragonspawn?" said Sam.

"It is not unheard of for dragonspawn to learn to change their scent, but it takes very powerful magic," said Nalice.

"I can manage it just fine."

"No, you cannot, what I have taught you is a _masking_ spell, which is quite easy and only temporary." Nalice tapped her lips with two fingers. "No, it is far more likely Evenian is a dragon. I have never seen him or her in their dragonspawn form. _Never_. Ebonaria often goes into Theramore with the dragonspawn, and Evenian knows mortals well enough that even _Onyxia_ didn't know he was dragonkin for years. With Romathis and Onyxia dead, she could rise to the top."

"What about you and Serinar?" said Sam.

"Serinar cares little for the politics of the Flight, as long as he has his precious shrine." Nalice sneered. "Though he wields much influence, enough even to rival Ebonaria, he would not contest her. I may be his Prime Consort, but I am the daughter of a cripple, and no matter how hard I work, I will always have my father's failings overshadowing me."

"We have to tell Romathis!"

Nalice gave a bitter laugh. "That would be foolish. If I am wrong, Romathis would seize upon the opportunity like a vulture with a carcass and wipe out Onyxia's brood to 'make sure' all signs of treachery are dead… and then steal her eggs in payment. No, I must verify this for myself and fly to Dustwallow, and remove any threats on our own. If Ebonaria or any of the Scalebanes are absent..."

"But you told me Evenian was a spy for Romathis," said Sam. "Did he never dispute that?"

"Romathis?" Nalice frowned. "No, you are correct, Romathis admitted this himself... perhaps there truly _was_ an Evenian, once. Perhaps Ebonaria killed him. In any case, my answers lay to the west. You..." She turned her scowl on Sam. "Stay away from the Keep for now, they will be looking for a thief, though I think Omnarion will be quick to deny anything has been taken, because if Draconic letters fell into the hands of the Guard, it would all be over. If Onyxia should perish, get _out_ of there, your link to me could very well get you killed."

_I didn't think you cared_, Sam resisted the urge to say.

"When I return, I will take on another form." And in front of her, Nalice shimmered.

Her shoulders grew broader, a beard appeared on her chin, and her skin darkened until an attractive, chocolate-eyed man with shoulder-length hair and robes smirked at her. Her voice was deep when she spoke. "_This_ is my dead father's favourite guise, Baron Sablemane, so do not fear when I approach as this. I have had, ah, occasion to use it in the past. But I would be a fool to return to Stormwind Keep as Nalice when Onyxia may have died. If she has, we will meet in the Lion's Pride Inn in Goldshire, understood?"

Gods, it felt like talking to another person entirely. "Understood."

"You may remain here for the night, if you wish." Nalice rose. "For now, I fly."

-o-O-o-

Sam couldn't sleep. She'd given up attempting to sleep on Nalice's rickety cot, lit a candle, and dug out the parchment Nalice kept for the purposes of learning Draconic. She'd be furious if she returned and Sam hadn't made any progress. She sighed, looking to a vocabulary list of parts of the human body. "Lok'amir" looked to be an awfully complicated word for 'hand'...

A knock sounded on the door.

Sam froze.

_Shit_. She thought she'd lost the authorities! She resisted the urge to snuff out the candle in panic and glanced out the window. A silhouette she could not make out peered in.

_Relax_, she told herself. She could ask the Bronze to cover for her later, make up an alibi. The picture of casual behaviour, Sam folded the notes and stuffed them in a pocket as she opened the door.

She did not expect to find Horan, gazing at her hollowly.

"How's Katrana?" said Sam.

Horan blinked at her. "What?"

"Oh. You haven't treated her for poisoning yet?"

"Oh!" Horan brightened, but it did not last long before his ears withered. "That must be what the third me is doing. Future self, I'm afraid. No, I came for..." He gestured at Sam. "Give me your cloak."

"Why?" Sam fumbled at the catch at her throat, swinging it off.

"My future self shall be back in a second." Horan gazed at her sadly, bowed, and then vanished.

In less than a moment, footsteps echoed in the empty street and Horan reappeared. "All done," he said.

"How is Katrana?" said Sam.

"I don't know," said Horan. "Forgive me, I did not mean to imply that _I_ was the future self who knew. Sam, you need to come with me."

Then she understood. Her heart plummeted, her insides went cold, and her heartbeat roared in her ears. _No, no, no, no! Not yet, please not yet, she's lived for so long, please!_

Horan's eyes glittered with tears in the faint light of the moon. "It's time."

-o-O-o

Together, they sprinted through Stormwind and to the Keep. The guards let them in. Sam almost tripped over Hora's past self, posing as a blonde woman in Sam's cloak, scuttling about the bushes. As she darted around the corner, a couple of guards dashed after her.

"Where did the thief go?" one demanded of Hora. She pointed wordlessly, and they continued their pursuit.

At Sam's puzzled look, she said, "We couldn't let them think _you_ were responsible for that break-in, could we?"

Sam didn't even give her a nod as she dashed across the court yard. Horan strained to catch up.

The infirmary slept on as they burst in. Horan barely kept Sam in sight as she ran down the corridor.

She turned the corner to see the door open. Through the glass, she watched Sam scoop up her daughter. Even out here, she could hear the rattle of Mandy's breath. Hora closed the door with a quiet click behind her as Sam sank into a chair, cradling Mandy close, tears streaming down her face.

"You're not crying," said Sam. "Aren't you in pain? Can we give her something, Horan?"

"She did not keep anything down today." How many times had Hora said that? In how many timelines had she uttered those same words, and gone to the drawer as she had now, and attempted to give the child the painkillers anyway? And how many times had the child coughed it back up, or refused to take it, as she did now? Mandy whimpered and fussed, but did not cry. It was as if the child had run out of tears.

"She has not cried in a long time," Hora murmured, moving to the window. It had been kept tightly locked ever since the child had been kept here, but Mandy could smell the night air now. One last time. The smell of grass and flowers blew in with a warm breeze. Let that be what Mandy smelled last, along with her mother's scent. Not the scrubbed cleanliness of the ward, not the stench of medicine and the reek of sterilisation.

Sam's voice was quiet. "Mandy..."

The night air tasted delicious against Hora's tongue as she stared out into the night. From here she saw the mountains that bordered the Steppes. Beautiful things, they were. No snow capped them, but they stood proud and tall against the sky like the dragons they guarded.

Once, Hora saved a child's life in a timeline. It started a war bigger than imaginable. _Sometimes_, Chromie had told her a long time ago now, _children have to die. It is despicable, but it is the way of the world. It is not murder to allow one to die to save the lives of many others._

_Yes it is, _Hora thought now, gazing at the blanket of stars above._ It's murder. It's always murder. She's innocent. Only a child. She never asked to be sacrificed..._

As the hours passed by, Sam sang and talked. Sometimes she told stories. Sometimes she fought tears as she sang a lullaby. But never did Sam get up to leave the daughter she held, and Hora's fingers began to stiffen from clinging to the sill of the window. "You've been a wonderful, beautiful daughter," Sam crooned. "I love you so much, sweetie."

So many 'I love you's, uncountable in their utterances and eternal in their sincerity.

"I barely think of you as what you could have been, you know. Because I love you so much as what you are, right now, a little baby. You're just a little unwell. It's not fair on you for me to focus on something other than what you are, right now. You're my baby girl. Your future was never up for me to decide."

_No_, thought Hora. _It wasn't. And here I am, her executioner. One who stands by and allows death to happen is just as bad as the one who commits the killing blow._

Behind the eastern mountains it would not be long until the sun began to touch the sky.

"No matter what you could have been... shh, it's alright." Amandine's breath rattled louder and the baby coughed and spluttered. "There's a girl. Let it all out. It's alright... you're so pale. So tiny. It's alright, baby girl. My beloved Mandy. Cough it all up, there's a girl... it's alright..."

Mandy hadn't kept much food down for days, but she'd stopped eating that evening. Even without her time knowledge, Hora had known it wouldn't be long.

"I'd hoped you'd break the chain, you know, but never like this," said Sam. "Your great-grandmother raised your grandmother by herself too, you know. And then your grandmother raised _me_ by herself... I'd always hoped that you'd get married. That you'd find a loyal, loving partner so you could give your children what my mother couldn't give me, what I couldn't give you. Somewhere along the line the Inkweavers forgot what it was like to have a father. I didn't want the chain to break like this." Her voice grew choked. "Not like this... please stop coughing, little one, it must hurt. Shhh. It's alright."

Hora leant her elbows on the sill. Her fingers hurt when she moved them after hours of staying still, but she bent and wiggled them until the blood returned, and held her head in her hands. She listened.

"You've touched my life and changed it for the better, my baby girl. You were a gift to me from the Light. But all I saw was darkness. All I saw was my loneliness, and everything around me, how bad it could be... I should have paid more attention to you."

_No_, Hora wanted to beg her. _Don't think that. Nobody's ever been so dedicated. You came here every day for months, for hours and hours._

Another rattling breath pierced Hora to her core.

"The Light just loves you so much it wants you back now," choked Sam. "It'll be alright, Mandy... Mamma will take care of you. I promise, and..."

Silence.

Hora's heart froze in her chest.

"... Mandy?"

Something wet trailed down Hora's cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her head in her hands. The night breeze went still.

"... _Mandy_?"

Behind Hora, she heard the sound of quiet sobs.

The tears felt hot as they streamed down her cheeks.

-o-O-o-

_She should be alright, she has to be alright, she can't just... please, Kat, wake up._

Sounds echoed around her. The world swam, but she had not even opened her eyes.

_Please, Kat, please... I'm here._

A cold hand held hers. Her eyes flickered open.

She was... alive?

"How?" she murmured. Her voice sounded hoarse. Her throat still burned as it had when she threw up the poison. It hadn't tasted corrosive, not until it came back up... she groaned.

"Kat!" Cold arms wrapped themselves around her, but she did not have the energy to squirm. The voice that spoke sounded muffled, as if she had cotton stuffed in her ears. "Light, Kat. You frightened me. I thought you were dead..." She felt his lips press to her cheek.

"What time is it?" Her voice slurred when she spoke. She turned her head and saw something gold and white beside the bed. Her blurry vision picked out fuzzy elven ears and two glowing points of blue light, which blinked.

"Dawn," said Hora. "You had an extreme allergic reaction last night. You'll be under the weather for a few days, but you'll make a full recovery."

"I can't see. Or hear."

"It'll come back. Highlord, may I request a hot drink for her? Just water, perhaps, boil some water and put a bit of lemon in. And honey. To soothe her throat."

She felt another kiss pressed to her temple before she was lowered to a pile of pillows. She watched the form of Bolvar leave the room, a cluster of exploded colours that blended into one another.

"Bronzewing?" she said.

"It wasn't an allergy." The blur that was Bronzewing sat on the bed, her voice a low murmur. "That was Dragonbane."

"Dra..." By the _Titans_. "How am I still _alive_?"

Nobody ingested Dragonbane and lived. _Nobody_.

"Because you're pregnant," said Hora.

Squinting didn't make Hora come into any better focus, no matter how hard Kat tried. Her throbbing head began to ease already. "What?"

"Because you're pregnant with a human child."

"I don't understand."

"When we shift to mortal form, we never shift entirely," said Hora. "Because to shift entirely would be to give up our keen hearing and sight and leave us feeling blind. Humans have poorer senses than us. But a pregnant body does things on its own to make pregnancy easier, and in your case it shifted to being almost completely mortal, therefore upping your resistance to the poison considerably. It helps that draconic magic is involved."

"But people have_ never_ survived it..."

"It is still deadly if quick action is not taken," said Hora. "Congratulations, consider yourself the first to survive. You're going to feel wretched for a few days, I'm afraid."

Katrana rubbed her pounding head. "Mortal... is that why my senses have dulled so much since the pregnancy occurred?"

"You're not so sharp when you're sick, are you?"

"I shall throw up on you out of spite," Kat grunted. "Is the child...?"

"There is the _one_ benefit to being Dragonblood," said Hora. "Its mortal blood gives it immunity to Dragonbane, unlike its parents. The child is fine, I assure you, although I had to use troll's blood to help your system regenerate from the damage the Dragonbane was doing, and it may have harmless effects on the child. It'll be bigger than typical when it's born."

Kat's eyes flickered to the doorway. Through the pulse that echoed like a drumbeat in her skull, she heard running water. "Does he know?"

"You really _aren't_ sharp," said Hora. "I told him it was an allergic reaction."

"But who poisoned me?"

"I think you can guess."

Quietly, Kat covered her mouth. "Evenian did this. For all I know Omnarion helped him. The Chromatic Flight must be ready. They wanted to reveal who I am..."

"Or maybe they didn't." Hora sat back. "It's not common knowledge that your body can resist it whilst pregnant with a mortal child, but it's not secret, either. Alchemists within the Flight, for example, would know."

"But Sabel wouldn't poison me." Katrana ran a hand through her hair, sticky with sweat. The room sweltered. "The Dark Portal is still closed."

"Yes, it is."

"Evenian's an alchemist?" Katrana struggled to sit up again. "Hora, I need that potion. The one you stole. I need him to talk and that's going to be the only way."

"Not yet." Hora lowered her voice. "The time isn't right. Not yet. Soon."

Did Hora think she was a god, to manipulate them like this? "How soon?"

"Soon enough." Hora switched to Common and spoke in a normal tone of voice. "You'll be fine in a few days. Your vision and hearing _will_ come back. You need plenty of rest and fluids."

"I see." Katrana followed suit. Far, far away she thought she could hear Bolvar in the kitchen. She murmured, "Sometimes I forget he's not the child's father."

"He essentially is," said Hora. "It has his blood running through its veins, after all. If anything, you're not its mother. Your human form is its mother, and all it has to show that we were here are a couple of dabs of draconic magic."

"The magic that will drive it insane."

Hora sighed. "In more ways than one," she murmured. "Bronze Dragonblood don't have good effects either."

"What happens to them?"

"It is nowhere near as bad as what happens with the Black Dragonblood," said Hora. "But it ruins their life in a different way. Bronze Dragonblood…"

"They're seers?"

"Seers know the difference between their visions and reality. Children with Bronze Dragonblood don't." Hora smoothed her robes. "They turn up for appointments they won't make for five years. They act like it's mid afternoon in the middle of the night. You can't bathe a Bronzeblood toddler, because in their head they might be a fourteen-year-old who thinks you're about to molest them, and then they'll be afraid of you for life. A baby might scream because for a moment, they're thirty in their head and don't know why they can't move or talk. And they're not even conscious of what's going on because they're never known anything else. Their lives are a series of unrelated vignettes that make little to no sense to them, and some of them even come from alternate timelines. They don't live life in chronological order, and they _can't_."

"That's…"

"They think they're insane, in the end," said Hora.

And coupled with the Black Dragonblood effects… "It's not going to cope. It's going to be born handicapped." She straightened. The world seemed a little clearer, though not by much. "I will need your help."

The corner of Hora's lips quirked. "The great Onyxia? Asking for help?"

"Bolvar won't know what to do with it," said Katrana. "Its life is going to be terribly short. If it doesn't kill itself escaping that insanity, someone else will in self-defence."

"You will know what to expect. Bolvar won't."

"Will dragon blood do it _any_ favours?" said Katrana. "Any at all?"

Hora shook her head. "It won't be able to move through time, it won't have an aptitude with fire, it won't be immune to the breath of our Flights. All it will be is human, with two curses on its head. Perhaps three, we don't know if the pyromania had anything to do with the Old Gods or if that was what the Black Dragonblood ill effect was _before_ the Old Gods came along…"

"And you didn't stop me from this," said Katrana.

"You'd be dead twice over if I did," was all Hora said.

-o-O-o-

Whilst Kat was ill, Sam visited only once, to tell her of Nalice's departure and theory, relieved that she had lived. Gutted about the possibility of Ebonaria's betrayal, Kat hadn't noticed Sam's red eyes. It was not until Bolvar returned that evening, exhausted from his all-nighter and the work he'd done that day, that she found out about Amandine's passing.

The next day Bolvar, Kair, Myth and Anduin attended the funeral, alongside a silent Horan Bronzewing. Omnarion crawled out of the woodwork to give Sam his sympathy, oblivious to the fact that she'd been the true thief.

"We didn't even smell a whiff of Norris," Bolvar sneered when he returned that afternoon, in the kitchen making a mug of tea for Katrana's throat. "But that's probably best. Where's _Nalice_? I thought she was a friend of Samantha's!"

"Nalice left for Theramore before she could find out." Kat dreaded whatever the woman would say to Sam when she returned.

"Kat..."

"What is it?" Katrana glanced at him.

"After lights out one night..." Bolvar squeezed her shoulder. "She's miserable. Kair's not talking to her, he's still hiding in his books, and Myth and Anduin can't relate to her. And I can't, either. Maybe... maybe it would be rubbing salt in the wound for her to see you, but she needs _someone_, and she's always liked you. When you're better...?"

Katrana knew loss. "I will see her tonight."

"You're still unwell, Kat."

"'Tis not contagious."

Bolvar laughed without humour and kissed her cheek. He lingered there, clutching her shoulder as if drawing strength from her. Beneath the surface, she felt his grief. He'd liked the child. And now he had a baby of his own on the way, he shared Sam's own grief far more intently than he otherwise would. "I could not bear it if something happened to you or the little one. Thank you, Kat."

She brushed their lips together without second thought, and felt a smile form as she felt the human's grief lessen at the contact. The human was so easily comforted by her, so easily cheered by small touches. A brief touch to his cheek exacerbated the effect, and she won herself a small smile from him.

_My blessing_, he murmured.

How easy it would be to tear him apart...

_I won't_, said Onyxia. Her unconscious was as clear as ever in Bolvar's head, and rarely made sense to the man, but she spoke to Katrana as much as she did to Bolvar. _I will protect him. He is mine, now._

_Disgusting, traitor to your people, betrayer of your father..._ the Old God snarled.

Hers? She had never thought of it that way. She'd never felt the blazing passion she'd read of in her novels. Her care for Bolvar was quiet, unobtrusive, steady. It was so small, so fragile, a tiny flame so tempting to nurture until it blazed brighter than Ragnaros, a seed that would grow mightier than Teldrassil.

Even the Old Gods could not touch this. Repelled by its presence, it retreated to the dark fissures of their joined minds, hissing.

The Old Gods relied on paranoia, on jealousy, on hate. How could their words survive against compassion? How much control would they have wielded over the Black Dragonflight if they had not been so emotionally distant from one another, if they had loved one another as they should have?

She pressed another kiss to the human's lips and let it linger. He made a soft noise and she felt his heartbeat quicken, felt his skin sear with heat where she touched it. And she found herself tempted for more. Tempted to let him touch her, to feel his love for her through those touches, tempted to feel that lust and that heat.

Instead she drew away with a soft smile, and though his face was a careful mask she felt that small sense of disappointment behind his senses.

And after dark, still thoughtful, she visited Samantha.

Her door was unlocked, but no light shone underneath. Reluctant to scare the human, Onyxia stepped through. She closed the door with a tiny click that broke the silence like thunder.

She found the human on a chair in the living room, gazing out of the window. A single candle danced on the windowsill in front of her, a single, tiny beacon in the dark sending streaks of orange through her dark hair. She didn't turn when Onyxia approached. Onyxia wondered how to announce her presence without startling her, but she felt weak still with illness, and longed to sit down.

"Getting up in the morning is the worst bit." Sam did not turn around.

In spite of how loud the click had been against the silence, Onyxia barely heard Sam's ragged voice now. "I wake up and see her cot there. I don't want to look at it, I don't want to see it ever again, but it'd break my heart to move it. Her teddy bear, the one you gave her, sits in it. When I didn't bring it to her I left it there, hoping that one day she could come home, that one day she could cuddle it at night again." She brushed the back of her hand against her eyes. Onyxia saw the tears smeared there, saw how swollen Sam's eyes were. "You've lived ten thousand years. You lay clutches that can contain hundreds of eggs. Most dragons don't live to be drakes. _How do you do it?_ So many of your children have died, how could you face every one of those deaths and not feel like it's torn you apart? I feel so raw. I feel like my heart's ripped open."

"We are not like mortals." Onyxia pulled a chair to the window, her legs shaking from the strain of carrying her weakened body as she sat at last, relief echoing through every cell of her body. "Your kind adore your children. You care for them more than yourselves."

"Not all of us." Sam's laugh sounded bitter, and ended in a sob. "My father was all-too willing to let his daughter and granddaughter die on the streets. So many others were too. _You_, the supposedly evil dragon, helped us when nobody else would. I think you care more than you know."

"There is a reason our kind do not live to what is essentially our teenaged years." Onyxia gazed outside with Samantha. The stars twinkled down at them sadly. "Our children feel a violent urge and kill one another when they hatch. They tear one another apart. Only the strongest survive. We call it the Purging."

"That's terrible."

"It was not always this way." Onyxia's back ached. Her body demanded sleep, but she ignored it as the child gave her a good kick. "I do not remember the years before it began to happen, but it did not happen when I hatched. If it had, I would have died. I was a runt who barely survived as it was."

"So why did it happen, then?"

"Do not tell this to Nalice," said Onyxia. "I will, when the time is right... She would think me insane, as if she does not already. The Old Gods taint the Black Dragonflight. It rips us apart like Ebonaria sought to rip my brother and I from each other with hostility. It was not always this way. My other brother, Sabellian, followed the old ways. It was part of the reason he was ostracised."

"Sabellian," said Samantha. "Sablemane? Nalice has mentioned him."

"He was her father." Onyxia rose. She took another candle on the table behind them and set it on the sill. A tiny flame flickered above her finger as she lit it. "He had an injury as a whelp, I think, that weakened his leg. It was broken again as a drake when the Taint first set in, an event I forgot for millennia." She'd forgotten so many things over the years. "It had since grown very weak. When I was three thousand years old, before Nalice was born..." She folded her hands in her lap. "Black Dragons mate for life. We have no concept of an ex partner. As far as the Black Dragonflight sees it, once you have mated, you cannot undo it. You can dislike your partner and not speak to them for the rest of your lives, but you are still considered mates. A male once sought to take advantage of this. I was small, still small now, smaller than most of my kind. I had strength through my magic and nothing else. He... pinned me. _Made_ me his mate no matter how much I struggled to fight him off."

"... Gods, Onyx. I'm sorry."

"The Flight did not acknowledge what he did to me," said Onyxia. "He had mated with me, therefore he was my mate. Even my Father scoffed at my protests and told me to stop being so weak when I said I did not consider him as such. Threatened my life because I did not stick to our ways. Disowning a mate is a crime punishable by death. You can stop talking to your mate... but you can never _disown_ them."

"Nalice speaks of your society as if it is perfect," said Sam. "I... that's... what did you do?"

"I killed him," said Onyxia. "Killing one's mate... isn't it odd? It's less of a crime than disowning your mate, because you are still considered mates after they are dead, and death happens all the time in the Black Dragonflight. But it was still disgusting enough that many dragons would not even spit on me, despite being Deathwing's daughter, because of what I had done. When nobody would associate me, only the Flight's pariah would." She folded her hands into loose fists. "His name was Sabellian. He talked to me. He helped me when I was weak and wishing to die, and built me anew. Time heals all wounds, and over the next few centuries my crime was forgotten. I forgot the mate I killed, I still do not even remember his name. We live so long that it is inevitable. I forgot what Sabel did for me. But I never forgot our friendship, and even as I rose to the top it never died."

"You were close?"

"Closer than most Black Dragons are with their consorts," said Onyxia. At Sam's puzzled look, she said, "It is not as you think, Sam. Do not mistake me, I did not feel romantic love for my brother. I have never felt romantic love. Your society sees romantic love as the ultimate love that no other love can exceed. Your kind believe in soulmates, in a partner that will complete you and fulfill all your needs." She brushed a lock of hair behind Sam's cheek. It made the human smile for a brief moment, before it flickered away like a candle's dancing flame. "I had no need for romantic love. But everything else Sabellian fulfilled. He was my soulmate in the most platonic sense of the word one can imagine."

Sam gazed at the candle in front of Onyxia. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"'Tis a mortal tradition to light candles for the dead, is it not?"

"Yes." Sam glanced to her own. "So that their spirits can find their way home... wherever that is."

"For a long time, I believed he wasn't." Onyxia folded her hands in her lap. "In spite of all odds, he survived in the Black Flight the only ways he could. Ways that would be seen as weak in our kind, but he survived. Black Dragons kill each other over very little, and he insulted them by bearing a physical disability and still living in spite of it. When they fought him they used it to their advantage, so he sought refuge with mortals. But one day he was sent to the other side of the Dark Portal in the Second War, with my father and his brood." She watched the candle flicker in front of her. "Before the Portal closed they were besieged by the gronn. They were immune to dragonfire, giant beasts with thick hide that could toss a fully-grown dragon. Deathwing escaped, and last I heard my brother was still alive on the other side of it, but... it was a massacre."

She gazed into the candle flame for a long moment. So fleeting. So fragile. Finally, she said in a low voice, "But now? I do not think he survived. Nobody could have survived that. Our strongest, our most intelligent and stubborn went out there, and they were cut down as if it was _nothing_. There is no way that Sabel, who had barely any fighting skills to speak of, would have survived. He was a strategist. A doctor. Not a fighter. If our best died, why would he have survived? Nobody would even have mourned him. Except for me. He would have died in silence."

Like Orion. Like her children, when the humans slain them.

"He was an outcast. Like me, then."

"Yes." Onyxia gazed at the stars. Was Outland's sun among them? Where had her beloved brother fallen? "I think he would have appreciated you. He gravitated to the outcasts of mortal society. He saw something in them that he understood. And those mortals understood him in a way that I couldn't."

"So he worked with what he had," said Sam quietly. "When life gives you lemons and all that..."

"When life gave Sabel lemons, he'd squeeze them in somebody's eyes."

Finally, she earned a small smile from Sam.

A strong breeze blew through the window, and the candle in front of her died.

"No!" Sam's knuckles went white as she stared at the smoking stump in front of her. "Oh, gods, if I light it again, will she see it? What if her spirit's lost forever?" She paused, and sighed. "It's just a stupid tradition. It's not true."

"Perhaps Mandy's spirit blew it out so that you would know she found her way."

Sam blinked. She smiled at Onyxia. Her eyes overflowed with tears.

Well into the night, by the lights only of the moon travelling across the sky and the single candle left, Sam and Onyxia talked about Amandine. Sam was reluctant at first to confront her grief, preferring to talk about the Black Dragonflight and their tradition, but soon enough Onyxia enticed Sam into talking and it was all Sam could do to talk through sobs and tears.

"Nalice said only the weak cry," she choked out, after blowing her nose on her third handkerchief. Her face looked splotched even in the dim light, her eyes bloodshot. "Gods. How must it look to a dragon that I'm like this? This _mess_?"

"We give a mourning call when our kind die," said Onyxia. "Those roars are the same as tears, to us. Cry. It will do you good."

She'd never cried.

By the time Samantha had been enticed to sleep, it was dawn and Onyxia's mortal body threatened to buckle and collapse beneath her. After tucking the frail mortal into bed, Onyxia departed, intent to reach her and Bolvar's quarters before the nobility began to move around and saw her.

Orange light flickered.

Left behind on the windowsill, forgotten and abandoned, Sabel's candle burned on.

-o-O-o-

The human lay on the armchair, chocolate hair covering his closed eyes, his head turned to the side. He breathed deeply and slowly, until Katrana quietly put a hand on his shoulder.

"Mmm?" He stirred.

The embers of the fire had long died, Katrana saw. "I told you not to wait up for me."

He yawned and stood. "Bloody hell, is it dawn already?" He laced his fingers together and thrust them towards the ceiling, arching his back. "Ow, my neck..." He paused. "Kat, have you been out all night? You're still sick!"

"It was some time before Sam was willing to sleep." Kat _felt_ exhausted. Her eyelids were so heavy and her eyes felt dry. She felt as if she stood behind a glass wall. "Grief kept her awake. She did not wish to say much about it."

That was Nalice's influence, Kat didn't doubt. How sad. Once upon a time she would have agreed that not speaking of one's grief was strong, but...

But seeing Sam keep it all in had struck something within her, something that felt hollow. She shouldn't have to keep it in. Speaking of Sabel had made _her_ feel better... it was only proper she do the same thing for the mortal.

Bolvar took her hand. "I still have a few hours before I have to go," he murmured. "Come to bed, Kat. You need sleep, my dear. Come on."

Katrana nodded, and allowed the human to lead her.

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Holy hell, almost at 300 reviews! Thank you, so much, to everyone who's followed this far._

**_KyreanNightblood_**_: Knowing is half the battle!_

**_Maraa:_**_ Oh bugger, didn't notice that, I better fix it!_

**_Seripithus:_**_ Thank you!_

**_JustMe:_**_ That's some food for thought indeed. I shall keep it in mind when editing the next few chapters._

**_Kai:_**_ We'll find that out one day, though as you can see... yeeeah._

**_Zeitlos:_**_ I hope you feel better! And I can picture Ony making a 40-dragon raid. BRB WIPING FOREVER._


	37. Hora's Puzzle

_**A/N:** This chapter was a blast to fix up._

_Thank you to **Coincidencless** for spotting all those embarrassing mistakes._

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**Chapter Thirty-Six**

* * *

Nine days. Nine days of constant flying, of praying the lightning didn't hit her before she could find an island to wait out storms on, nine days of barely anything to eat. Only the toughest dragons could stand to fly for a solid week, and even Nalice had to rest on occasion. The mail drake could make the journey in four days, but he had the speed of youth and the efficiency of years of practice. The flight from the Dragonblight to either Azerothian continent was just as bad.

When she began to spot fishing boats below, Nalice dived into the water and spend hours propelling herself under the surface with wings as good as webbed feet, only needing to stick her snout above the surface every ten minutes. Once close enough, she shifted into the form of a mortal. People stared as she clambered onto the docks of Theramore, soaking wet and stinking of seaweed, but she ignored them and strolled into Theramore as if she did it every day. It felt good to stretch her legs after tiring her wings so badly.

She found the cottage soon enough. It would be foolish to act on an impulse without evidence, and no doubt the cottage would hold some. She placed her hand on the doorknob, her mind working hard to pick the lock with telekinesis as passer-bys gave her odd glances. She turned the handle and strolled through the doorway.

She expected dust. She expected cobwebs. She expected cold air and homeless squatters.

But everything smelled clean and fresh. She smelt a familiar scent, and a foreign one. The familiar one had been here for quite some time…

What?

Puzzled, Nalice strode through the house as if she owned the place and came across the study. She opened the door to find a dark-haired woman lounging in an arm chair, a blonde man by her side. Conversation stopped in its tracks as both looked to her, one with a confused expression and the other with an arched eyebrow.

"Fancy seeing you here." The dark-haired one looked unphased.

Nalice crossed her arms and gave the dark-haired one her best glare. "I see you have a visitor."

"Who's this?" The blonde blinked.

"My cousin, Nalice." The dark-haired woman rose. "I'm sorry, Ben, could you come back later? She's often… _demanding_."

"Uh." The human faltered. "Alright. I'll see you later then, Ebony."

"Wait." Nalice flung out an arm to block the human's path. The human bristled, already annoyed. "How long has… _Ebony_ been in Theramore?"

"I've known her for _years_." 'Ben' gave her an odd look.

"That does not answer my question," said Nalice. "Has she been here for the previous few months?"

'Ebony' rose an eyebrow. Ben frowned. "Of course she has. I'm her neighbour. I see her around all the time."

Ebonaria had been in Theramore all along?

Then who…?

"If you are certain." Nalice moved her arm. The human gave her a disgusted look. Nalice listened to his footfalls echo down the stairs. After the front door closed, she said, "Consorting with humans, Ebonaria?"

"It pays to have ears in the community." Ebonaria sat down behind her desk, abandoning the arm chairs by the fire. "Given the dragon scare in Stormwind, some of the mortals here are suspicious of the Black sightings far to the south as well. The friendlier I am with everyone, the less they could ever suspect…" She drummed her nails on the wood. "Why are you not with my mother? And what is all this about asking if I have been here recently? I have been nowhere near Stormwind, so if anyone did something, Nalice, 'twas not I."

"You are correct, of course." Nalice seated herself in the arm chair her cousin had vacated, eyeing the other with disdain. She would _not_ sit in human filth if she could help it after spending so much time in Stormwind. "There was one thing I forgot whilst on my way here. You were present in the Wyrmbog when I departed for Stormwind. How could you be in two places at once? Whoever our enemy is, 'tis not you. But if it is not you, then who is it?"

"Enemy?" said Ebonaria. "Do tell."

Nalice had expected Ebonaria to explode in fury, but of course she wouldn't. Nalice had spent far too much time among humans. Black dragons stabbed each other in the back all the time, Ebonaria would not be offended by natural suspicion. "What does the name 'Evenian' mean to you?"

"That's the name of Romathis's spy. Mother told me."

"What else do you know of him?" She would not tell Ebonaria the truth. Ebonaria knew too many people, would not keep secrets, and they could not afford to alert the true culprit.

"Only that he frustrates my mother to no end." Ebonaria took the other arm chair. "What of it?"

"Has Romathis ever contacted you?"

Ebonaria snorted. "He believes my mother would depose him one day and have me replace him. Of course he does not speak to me, though I would not be surprised if he has others keeping an eye on me."

A human would criticise the poor communication of the Flight, but such a paranoid cluster of dragons valued privacy. A dragon would take advantage… a dragon, _some_ dragon, sought to spread paranoia among the Black Flight. They took advantage of what was already there. This dragon had great intelligence. This dragon knew to fight dirty, because they lacked the strength to fight openly. This dragon had a deep understanding of alchemy. This dragon had been around mortals often enough to know that the Dragonblood were immune to Dragonbane.

And what dragon, out of the hundreds Nalice had known over the millennia, fit into all those categories? What dragon was known to enjoy mortal company, and rumoured to enjoy it _too_ much, possibly enough to sire Dragonblood? What dragon was the best alchemist Nalice had ever known?

And who was also an adult heir of Deathwing?

Nalice had lied to Onyxia. Onyxia moped about her brother far too often. The Dark Portal was closed, yes, but not for long. The demons had not scattered. She could not allow Onyxia to wait for rescue like a _weakling!_

But Sabellian was on the _other_ side of that Portal!

Or was he?

How many times had Sabellian gone into hiding to avoid attempted assassination for his disability? How many times had Sabellian appeared to have vanished off the face of the earth for decades, sometimes centuries, to hide among mortals? He was a _karkunashj_, a cockroach that survived even when everything around it had died. He could escape the gronn better than even the most elite fighters could. He could have returned to Azeroth and simply not told anyone. He could have hid under their noses, biding his time…

And now he worked to undo the Flight that had persecuted him for ten thousand years. The final, ultimate revenge would be to exterminate those who had tried to kill him. His last insult would be to outlive them all.

His friendship with Onyxia? Only part of the plan. He'd reached out to those stronger than him who were manipulated by his charm, in spite of the stigma. He _had_ had three mates and a consort when he'd left for Outland, after all. Maleficent had left him to his own devices, Ravenia and Lividia ignored him unless it served them, though Orion was the only one who seemed proud of their bond. Sabellian must have predicted he could use Onyxia for his own ends later on… and he knew that if he played his cards right, Ebonaria would be blamed.

"Well played, father," Nalice murmured. "Well played. But we've caught you."

"Apparently my mother is not the only one who speaks to herself." Ebonaria raised an eyebrow.

"Knock knock," said a voice at the door.

Both dragons jumped, and Nalice whipped her head to the door in a snarl. "_Bronze!_ What are you doing here?"

"A Bronze?" Ebonaria drawled. "What a _privilege_ to be in your presence."

"I'm here for Nalice." A gnome stood in the doorway, golden hair in coiled plaits on either side of her head. "I have something for her. Something you've been looking for, for a while. And another thing, something which will nip this civil war in the bud before it begins, if you should use it properly."

"My father is a traitor, is he not?" Nalice rose. "He has been hiding here all this time. And you _knew_."

"I can't give you the answers." Hora held out an envelope. "But I can guide you to them."

Nalice smelt Romathis's scent on it before she swiped it from the Bronze. She pulled out a sheet of parchment, eyes scanning over it. "This is one of the letters from Romathis to Evenian I was looking for! You had it all along?"

"There were more, but this is the one that speaks loudest." Hora dipped a hand into her pocket.

"Why did you not give it to me _before_?" Nalice clenched her fists. "Why not before I started this journey? Why not _months_ ago?"

"The time was not right." Hora withdrew her hand, and Nalice glimpsed a vial in her fist. "If I allowed you to see that letter before… Onyxia's child has to be born."

"So she can _die_ for it?" The parchment rustled as Nalice waved it in the Bronze's face. "You know what will happen when Romathis finds out! It is a miracle Omnarion _lied_ for her in spite of Evenian's best efforts!"

"But I have something which will prevent the civil war from ever coming to pass." Hora held up the vial.

Inside swirled yellow liquid.

"I know that potion," said Nalice. "My father developed it himself. How ironic…"

"You have to use this on Evenian." Hora held it out to Nalice. "But not yet. He will recognise it. He will not take it willingly. You will have to find a way to make him take it. Your answer lies in Blackrock."

Nalice glanced back to the letter in her fist as she took the vial. "I know. Reginald Windsor. Evenian's last resort, if his plan falls apart… we must kill him before we confront Evenian." She looked to Hora. "But why must we interrogate him? There is no more to learn, I have all the answers!"

"No." Hora gazed up at her. "There is one last piece to the puzzle that must fall into place. One final confrontation that will change everything. And it all starts with that…" She tapped the vial in Nalice's hand. "Good luck, Nalice. This will be the last time we speak for a long while. I'll be leaving, soon, because my job will be done here."

"What _is_ your job?" Nalice lowered her hand, gazing at the gnome.

The gnome smiled. "Helping you where you can't help yourselves."

"We can help ourselves better than you think!" Nalice bristled at the expression. "Don't be so arrogant, Bronze."

The gnome continued to smile as she shook her head. "It's not just you I have to help, Nalice. But you're a Black dragon. I know you won't understand even if I explain. But know that if I weren't here, things would be far worse than they are. Trust me, Nalice."

"You're a Bronze." Nalice had forgotten about Ebonaria until she spoke. "Why should we trust you?"

"Because I know how this is going to end." The gnome bowed.

"And what's this about Onyxia and a child?" said Ebonaria.

Nalice turned a glare on her cousin. "Share that and I will personally rip out your throat, Ebonaria." She glowered at the Bronze. "I must return to Stormwind with all haste. Blackrock, you say?"

"Indeed," said Hora. "You will understand and figure it out. I know you, Nalice. You're very intelligent, even if you pretend otherwise."

"_Ha!_" said Ebonaria. Nalice sneered, and stormed out of the room, clutching the letter in one hand and the vial in the other.

Ebonaria gazed at Hora for a long moment. "So, you interfere with our fates. Why am I _not_ surprised, Bronze?"

Hora gazed at the floor, a sad expression on her face. "I'm sorry."

-o-O-o-

"It all makes sense now!" said Nalice. Onyxia stared into space. "Don't you see? He seeks revenge!"

"No, your explanations _don't_ make sense." Onyxia shook her head, sitting back. "Sabel always preached _against_ the cycle of revenge. Or he would have lashed out thousands of years ago."

"There were those who thought we abandoned him in Outland, and the broods that went with him." Nalice leaned on the desk. Between them sat Romathis's letter. Onyxia hadn't dared look yet. "Perhaps you recall how vocal Orion was about it. Sabellian would have survived." Nalice clenched her fists. "_After_ watching his mates perish, after watching his children die. Do you not think that would have made him snap, or that he could have manipulated you?"

"If Sabellian survived, I do not doubt that watching such tragedy would have changed him forever." _If_ he survived. Who would he be now? Would he still be the wise wyrm Onyxia remembered? He was dead, _not_ a traitor. "He would _never_ betray me. He has been hostile to others, hostile to _you_, but rarely to me."

"You think you're special?" Nalice sneered.

"Even if I did not mean so much to him, he would never turn on his own kind, no matter how much we may deserve it." Onyxia tapped the desk, then took the envelope. "Did the Bronze call him Sabellian?"

"No, but — "

"Then Sabellian is likely not responsible."

"Who _else_ could it be? I wouldn't be surprised if it was _Hora_ at this point."

"I have my suspicions…" Onyxia opened the envelope. "Let us see what this says."

"The vial." Nalice held up the delicate crystal container, her hand distorted through yellow liquid. "We must interrogate Evenian as soon as possible."

"If Hora said that we cannot just give the potion to Evenian, then I believe her." Onyxia opened the letter. "Hora knows our future."

"But can she be guaranteed to herd us to one that benefits us? She is Bronze, Broodmother. And do not forget she sacrificed the child, why would we be any different?"

"Kat, is everything alright?"

Both women froze. Katrana shot Nalice her iciest glare, rummaging through Bolvar's mind to see if he'd made out anything incriminating. Once she sensed him puzzling over _sacrificed the child_, she draped another blanket of magic over his memory, disgusted with herself as she did. "I am just speaking to Nalice about something, it is no matter," she called out, as Bolvar appeared at the doorway. "I thought you had a meeting to tend to with your advisors?"

Bolvar frowned at Nalice. "Alright, but if you need anything..."

"I shall be fine," said Katrana. "The child shall not be here for a few days yet."

"Alright, Kat." He smiled at her. "I'll stop my fussing." He shot Nalice a glare. "Look after her."

"Katrana never needs looking after," said Nalice.

"No, she doesn't," said Bolvar. "But if something happens somebody needs to be ready to run to Brother Bronzewing, because Kat won't be able to do it, and Sam can't right now." He sighed and shook his head. "I'll see you this afternoon, Kat."

"Have a good day, Bolvar."

When Bolvar was gone, Nalice sneered. "He makes me sick. When will the child arrive? Soon, I hope? Human gestation takes _forever_."

"A week at most, more likely a few days." Katrana looked to the parchment.

_E,_

_I am uncertain of what you say. In spite of Onyxia's frailties, I doubt she would ever betray us to mortals. Perhaps thirty years is too long among them, but they pale in comparison to a lifespan that is incomprehensible to you. She would not switch loyalties so quickly. Thirty years is long for a dragonspawn, but 'tis but the blink of an eye for a dragon._

_Never question her again unless you have evidence._

Onyxia blinked. "He _defended_ me."

"It gets worse," said Nalice.

_Windsor is deep within the earth, with the Dark Iron dwarves. I have no intention of doing as you suggest. If we should need to change plans, having a human with knowledge of Varian's fate and Prestor's identity could ruin everything if we do not get to him on time. We need Onyxia in Stormwind. Whether she has betrayed us or not, right now she is all that stands between the humans and us. Once the army is ready, if I have evidence that she has betrayed us, we shall release Windsor. But not a moment before then._

_I do not know what has gotten into your head. You were once such a faithful servant, but now you are slinging accusations and speaking lies. I have exchanged letters with Omnarion myself, and he denies any existence of this supposed Dragonblood pregnancy. Onyxia is no human whore._

Onyxia went cold. She glanced at Nalice.

Nalice said, "Omnarion lied to his master. This must be where Evenian started to intercept his mail, to stop Omnarion foiling him."

"Is there a way to check whether Romathis believes Evenian now?"

"That was the only letter Hora gave me." Nalice's frown deepened.

_When I see the child, I will believe it. Until then I am under no inclination to listen to you. Plainly you hold some grudge against my sister. Perhaps you feel you could have done her job better? What has gotten into you, fool? You have never questioned my orders as much as this. My sister is not to be killed, my sister would sooner die than mate with mortal scum, and if she did not destroy the Dragonbane as soon as it was brought to Stormwind, it was because she had better ideas. She did not "let it slip", as you have suggested, out of any sense of betrayal. She would never, ever risk the Dragonflight. Omnarion's word is against yours, and whilst I once believed him a fool, I have to say that as of late, I wonder if that status has not reversed itself._

_R_

"He believed in me." A lump rose to Onyxia's throat. "He defended me. Omnarion lied for me. And Evenian used a foolish _mistake_ as evidence for a supposed betrayal, the seeds of paranoia." Onyxia put the letter down, feeling numb. "Why did Omnarion lie for me? I thought he served his master above me."

"Perhaps he knew the consequences that would ensue if Romathis believed the truth," said Nalice. "Omnarion is weak. He has been among humans for far too long, he walks the line between human and dragonkin. Perhaps he felt projected camaraderie with the Dragonblood, as it would be neither human nor dragonkin itself. We may not ever know."

"This is why I have survived so long," Onyxia folded the letter. "This is why nothing has happened. Evenian had every intention of allowing my child to survive to term to present to Romathis as the final evidence of my supposed treachery, and he intercepted Omnarion's letters to isolate me further. Why did Romathis not come down here himself to demand why?"

"Perhaps Evenian posed as Omnarion," said Nalice. "But he could not change Omnarion's personality without arousing suspicion. When forging Omnarion's letters, he would have had to make it look like a gradual change, and he had plenty of time. The civil war would not start until the child was born. Romathis would be disgusted to know that Deathwing's blood runs through the veins of a mortal. He would see it as an abomination. He would call for its murder, and…" Nalice's accusatory glare threatened to burn holes into Onyxia's eyes. "And Evenian knows you would defend it like a _mortal_.

"If Romathis defeated you, then nothing would stop the mortals from killing him. By setting Romathis up to murder you, he sets Romathis up to be murdered, in turn, by mortals. Most of the Black Dragonflight is in the Steppes, and it's only thanks to your efforts that they live. If they alone died, almost the entire Flight would be gone." She drummed her nails on the desk. "And if Romathis killed your Brood before that happened, only a few would be left after all those deaths. It would be nothing short of a _massacre_. Sabellian knows this. He seeks to provoke my uncle into having you slain... using your mortal child as a weapon. This is why he waited so long to strike."

Onyxia said nothing, staring at the desk.

"Windsor must be assassinated." Nalice sat on the desk. "I can send Samantha to do it, providing I can pry her from the brat."

"Amandine is dead." Onyxia finally found her voice.

"Then that just makes it easier." Nalice folded her hands on top of one another. "She will accept any suicidal mission now that she is mourning it. But in the meantime, if your child should be born…" She leaned forward. "Kill it. Strangle it with its umbilical chord. Claim it died that way. Evenian would have no evidence to kidnap and take to Romathis, and combined with Windsor's death, everything will be prevented. The Bronze told me so herself that this civil war can be prevented."

"I will not kill it!" Onyxia bristled.

"If you do not, you risk destroying all of us!" snapped Nalice. "Even if Romathis knows what Evenian intended, he would still not allow the child to live, and _you_ would still not allow its destruction! The war would happen anyway, no matter how aware you are! The child has to _die_, Onyxia, and the Bronze knows it."

"Amandine died for a future that has still not come to light," said Onyxia. "Must my young do so as well?"

"Yes." Nalice's eyes narrowed. "It _must_ die. Would you sacrifice the rest of our kind just for the sake of one infant?"

"Of course not." Onyxia felt hollow.

"Use your disgusting, human compassion if you must. A child born of Black Dragonblood will only hasten its own death. It will only bring destruction and misery to those around it. What, Onyxia, did you believe you could stay and raise it?" Nalice's fists clenched. "That you could play human as it grows older? You are Broodmother, not only of your own children but the entire _Dragonflight_. You are responsible for _them_, not your human pets." She sneered. "By allowing the child to live, you _will_ have betrayed us all, Onyxia. And if you won't kill it, then I will. I have no intention of going extinct for a mortal _brat_."

"You have said enough." Onyxia aimed her hard gaze into Nalice's eyes.

Nalice sneered. "The mortals have made you soft."

But they hadn't. Her manipulations of Fordragon had opened her eyes to the Old God's corruption that drove the Black Dragonflight. She'd been _freed_.

... But that was the problem. The Old God drove the Black Dragonflight. To go against the Old God was to go against the Flight itself.

And who would ever believe her if she spoke up?

Onyxia held Nalice's eye. "You will send your Dragonsworn into Blackrock Depths to assassinate Reginald Windsor. Is that clear? We must not allow Evenian to use him as a weapon against us."

"It is clear," said Nalice. She lifted her chin, looking down at Onyxia. Onyxia returned her gaze just as coldly. "But remember what I said. _Anything_ for the Black Dragonflight. No matter what the cost."

_No matter what the cost._

Her children had died because Shaw had been willing to do anything it took to save Stormwind. Including murdering children. _Her_ children. Her hand clenched.

"Dismissed," she said coldy, and Nalice left without another word.

She was not like Shaw. She was no child killer.

-o-O-o-

Sam should have known that her private time to mourn would not last long.

Nalice returned and dragged her out of her rooms in the middle of the night. "The child is dead? Good, then you will not be distracted" was Nalice's only comment before she launched into a detailed exposition of the story so far.

All Sam could do was mumble in reply. "But Onyx told me Sabellian was nice. And dead."

Nalice sneered. "Do not be so familiar with the Broodmother!"

Sam was presented with new gear, including two new knives. Nalice snapped and bitched as Sam strapped it all on, but Sam ignored her. It felt a bit stiff, but it was better quality than Sam had ever hoped to wear. No doubt Serinar had financed it unwittingly.

Her mistress walked at a brisk pace through the near-empty streets of Stormwind. When had the fall come? When had the heat of summer faded? To think, it had been a year since Mandy had been born. Since Windsor had disappeared. Since that whole dragon fiasco started. Sam wrapped herself in her cloak as much as she could, but still the encroaching winter chill crept into the folds.

Winter. She didn't want to live to see it. Perhaps she'd die before it came. Perhaps whatever Nalice wanted to do with her now would kill her. That would be good. She'd see her little one again.

They walked for hours. Dawn hinted over the Elwynn foothills by the time Nalice stopped by a bowl in the earth. "Stand back," she commanded in Draconic. Sam knew those words, and obeyed.

Nalice's nails transformed into claws, her eyes turned yellow, her hair shrank into her head. Her face morphed into a long, cruel snout, and her legs became pillars. The form grew, and grew, and grew, until a behemoth loomed in front of Samantha. Her blood ran cold, her heart thundered in her chest in fear, and sweat beaded on her forehead as she looked up at a creature so massive it should be impossible, sending a jolt of primal fear through her. Her feet froze to the ground. She waited for those terrible jaws to snap her neck, for those cruel talons to rip her skin open...

She yelped as the claws lashed out and closed around her waist, and Nalice carried her servant into the sky.

-o-O-o-

When she finally let Sam go and shifted back into her form, Sam staggered across the burnt ground and lost her balance, falling to the heavy, cobblestone-like slabs that covered the bridge in relief. Ahead lay the entrance to Blackrock. All around Sam she felt the heat of the Steppes. Her skin felt dry and tight over her bones.

When was the last time she'd eaten? _Drank_? Already her parched throat cried for water. She hadn't brought any.

"You have a mission," said Nalice.

"I never would have guessed." Now that Nalice wasn't in the form of a _freaking scary_ wyrm and they were both on solid ground, Sam's confidence returned. She never wanted to fly ever again.

"Enter Blackrock." Nalice gestured to the mountain in front of them, which jutted into the sky like a malformed knife. "You will proceed to the center island by walking along a chain. You will make your way down into Blackrock Depths. Follow the tunnel, you will find it. Blackrock Depths is occupied by the Dark Iron dwarves, and the first thing you will come across is the Detention Block. You will proceed along there, find the main guardsman and pickpocket a set of keys. You will be in stealth the entire time, you must not be caught or you will die and everything is lost." Her eyes narrowed on Sam. "When you find those keys, you will locate a man by the name of Reginald Windsor."

Reginald Windsor?

Sam had never spoken to him, but she knew him. She'd seen him laughing with Bolvar Fordragon more than once, when she was a maid and Fordragon wasn't yet Highlord and he, her brother and Windsor used to be found talking together in the training squares.

"Reginald Windsor," she said. "Then what do I do?"

"Kill him."

Sam blinked. Her heart stuttered in her chest. "Kill him? Why?"

"Because if he is not killed, he may lead to Onyxia's death, and the deaths of many, many more dragons, thanks to Sabellian's treachery," said Nalice. "And you do not want that."

"Of course I don't!"

"Then do your _duty_."

"I'm thirsty," said Sam. "I need water."

"You will receive the supplies you need when you return," said Nalice. "Use the scent-concealing spell I taught you. The guards of the Detention Block have dogs, and they have keen noses. If you fail, Onyxia will die. Consider water as a reward for a job well done."

Alright. Fine. Who cared, anyway? Maybe she'd keel over and die of dehydration before she got much further.

"Most importantly," said Nalice. "I hear there is something in there you can use to entice a dragonspawn to drink a potion it won't want to, but I don't know what it is. Keep it in mind. Onyxia has every faith in the Bronze who informed us of this, but then, she's an incompetent bitch no longer capable of leading us. Go."

Getting up the bridge to the entrance was the first difficult part. It was a steep hill, and her legs hurt before she even got to the top. But Nalice had trained her, and she had the stamina, though she hadn't worked out since Mandy had died. After Nalice had left, Sam had neglected her nightly training and she could feel herself paying the consequences for it already.

She slipped into stealth before she went inside and invoked the spell, expecting guards to loom around the corner at any moment. But the massive circle of stone inside was deserted save for a Black drake that soared high above the magma. It was like nothing Sam had ever seen before. The massive architecture of the dwarves looked like a road that had once been populous with wagons and transport of all kinds, the center of a once-thriving city.

Now it was only an echo of what it once had been.

A massive island hung in the abyss, suspended on enormous chains that threatened to break and topple it into the lava. And she had to step _onto_ that? How!

Her eyes followed the chains.

She found a way onto one of them soon enough, through a small dirt hill. She mounted it and crept down the chain, wondering how the carts would have travelled down it. The solid chain did not even sway underneath her. It felt warm through the soles of her boots. How did the Dark Irons get their food down this? The chain was broad enough for a cart on each side to travel by itself. Perhaps it had been like a road, though as Sam stepped over the gaps between the links and looked down to the magma below, she wondered how the wheels would have managed those gaps.

Fel. Perhaps the dwarves didn't use carts at all. Perhaps they had a food source beneath the earth.

There were still no guards of any kinds in the island that hung above the magma. She proceeded through what seemed to be a tomb with some awe.

"I don't know, Stout. I really don't."

... as Sam followed the tomb out onto a rounded path, she stopped at the sound of voices. The path lay jutted into the side of the island without any way to stop herself falling into the magma. She pressed herself against the wall.

Below her stretched another enormous chain, leading to an island of metal stuck to the cavern wall. Here the heat became even more unbearable. And on the chain she saw two familiar figures. Her eyes widened. Voices carried up to her.

"Because of his grandfather there's no way the Dark Irons would have let him die. We _have_ to find a way past those dogs, we can't get reinforcements without arousing suspicion, we…"

"There are hundreds of cells!" protested a female voice. Sam thought it had been Lana's, but it sounded unfamiliar. "They have so many slaves just left there to die. We've been searching all year, Leo, we can't stay here forever."

"We can't give up on him!"

Sam slipped out of stealth as she stepped onto the chain. It wouldn't do to startle the people on it and send them plummeting to their deaths.

The female dwarf noticed her first, eyes widening. "Hey!" The human man turned to look at her. His jaw dropped as the dwarf continued to speak. "You! You're from the Keep, aren't you?"

"Who are you?" Sam peered at her. "You're not Lana Stoutwell."

"No, ma'am." The redheaded dwarf bowed. "I'm Aridonna Stoutwell, her niece, but people just call me Stout."

"_Samantha_?" said Leo. Sam twitched.

"Lana hinted you were somewhere here, but I didn't expect to run into you." Suddenly Sam felt comfortable knowing she had weapons at her hips. "I hear you're off chasing dragons."

"We're on a rescue mission," said Leo.

"Have been for _months_ now," growled Stout. "I don't even know what the date is."

"It's the first of October," said Sam.

"October? Bloody hell, we've been here longer than I thought!" said Stout.

"We're looking for Reginald Windsor." Leo sighed, and shook his head with a frown. "We're so close I can smell him. I go into the Detention Block every single day, have been for two months. I bet he's where the dogs are thickest, and I've yet to find a way past them."

But she could. She had a spell on her side, one most mortals didn't even know existed. "Do either of you have water? I'm sorry, I lost my supplies when I came out here."

"You look thirsty." Leo pulled a canteen from his hip. Sam tried not to run to him, and took it with relish, willing herself not to drain it. "We made friends with a mage who's been stationed out here for a while, so drink as much as you like. I'll be able to get more."

"There's not much water in the Steppes, but we manage." Stout took one of the waterskins from her hips. She had three, Sam noticed, as she gave Leo's back, willing herself not to drink anymore. "You keep this," said Stout. "I'll be able to get more soon enough. What are you doing here?"

"Stormwind nobility had a mission for me," said Sam.

Leo's eyes widened. "Bolvar _finally_ sent help? They got past that monster Prestor?"

Sam blinked. "It's Prestor who sent me."

"Pres..." Leo's jaw hung open. He looked down to the knives at Sam's hips. "They want you to kill him."

"_What_?" Sam blurted. And hoped to the Light that Leo thought it was shock, and not denial. "I was a fucking maid and a pickpocket, Leo. These are for self defence. You know, _dragonspawn? Dark Irons?_ I need to not-die?"

"Perhaps not..." Leo looked sheepish. "You're here to find him, then?"

Shit, what to say, what to say? She never thought she'd meet the Brotherhood of Cinders down here! "I'm on recon. You know we can't just charge in here and rescue him, you should know that."

"Of course I do." But Leo's tone held no impatience as he frowned. "We've been doing just that for months. We can't go in with all guns blazing after all." He glanced around them. "Come down and talk to us, up here isn't exactly the best place. Our mage is in our camp."

"We should be getting him help," said Stout.

"He can wait half an hour longer," said Leo.

Finally, Sam glimpsed her enemies. Dark Irons patrolled an enormous quarry that Leo led her into, but the three of them ducked down a side passage behind some enormous rocks and into a small cave which held some crates, a few bedrolls and the mage.

Their mage turned out to be a rather soot-stained gnome who shivered in spite of the heat. "You're back already?" The gnome blinked at them as they came back, and then saw Sam. "You brought help?"

"You'll have to wait a bit longer, I'm afraid," said Leo. "Sorry mate, we'll be going back up once we've given Sam the rundown."

"What's wrong with him?" said Sam.

"He's got fever," said Leo.

"_Had_ fever," said the gnome with a vacant grin. "It's chills now! I hope it won't get much worse. Do you need water?"

"Lots of it," said Leo, looking to a small crate which Sam saw was filled with empty waterskins and canteens. "Sam needs some."

"My pleasure!" The gnome's hands shook as he conjured. His palms glistened in the arcane light.

Sam sat on the ground. She hadn't even started, and was tired already. "Tell me what you know."

Leo unrolled some parchment across the floor. "This is a map of the Detention Block."

Stout glanced at the mage guiltily, and folded her legs underneath her. Sam looked over her brother's shoulder.

Now she looked at him, she could see resemblance. Where her skin was dark, her brother's skin was pale. He had a nose that was too crooked to be her mother's, but he had the same brown eyes she did.

Their father's eyes. Her mother's eyes had been brown, too, but much deeper than Sam's. Her eyes had been so dark they looked black. Her skin had been much darker than Sam's, too.

Sam jerked back to the present to hear Leo speaking.

"... southern portion of the Detention Block, where the dogs are thickest." Leo drew a circle in charcoal. "He can't be anywhere else."

"I wish we could free them," Stout murmured. Her eyes looked sad.

"Free who?" said Sam.

"The slaves." Leo sat back. "They hollow out the rock and put the slaves in, then solder the bars there. There's no dignity. Sometimes the cells are smaller than coffins. They get no privacy, no food, no water. They waste away in their own feces. To go in there, day after day..." Leo clenched a fist, and his face became wracked with grief. "... hearing their sobbing, their misery. We slip them mana biscuits whenever we can, and we beg them to keep quiet. So far, not a single one has told. They think we're going to save them all."

"And we will," said Stout. "But first, we need to find Windsor."

"Have you asked the slaves about him?" said Sam.

"Of course we have." Stout shot Sam a disgusted look reminiscent of her strict aunt. She jabbed the map. "That's how we've managed to narrow it down. He's with the more high-maintenance prisoners. The ones that have... relative luxury. They have four walls and a door, anyway. If he's lucky he doesn't have an orc as a roommate."

"And you don't know which cell he's in." Sam looked between them both. "I don't suppose you managed to snag some keys?"

"Leo's been nicking whatever keys he can find." Stout pulled a keyring from her satchel. "You're going in?"

"Yes," said Sam. "I have to look around and see Reginald Windsor's conditions." Now that she'd had time to think, the lie came easier. "I'm to scout out security, tell Windsor to sit tight, and people will be along."

"And they just sent one person?" said Leo. "Just one person?"

He still suspected her true goal, didn't he? "I had two companions, but they perished on the way." She lowered her head. "To dragonspawn."

The lie worked. Stout glared, and Leo sighed and shook his head. "I'm amazed that Prestor allowed this."

"She faced a lot of pressure." _Play along, Sam._ Let them believe the worst. They'd be blindsided, overconfident. "She's under a lot of pressure at the moment. I think the entire court is starting to suspect something. I mean, she passed the Dragonbane testing with flying colours..."

"Dragonbane testing?" Stout blinked at her.

"They gave everyone in the nobility a vial of liquid extracted from Dragonbane," said Sam. "They've been making batches of it and making the important people drink it. The first people tested were me, Anduin's tutors and bodyguards. Lady Prestor was in the second group. They've only done a third since of a few more nobles."

"And she passed?" Leo wore the same amazed expression his guildmate did. "I cannot believe it."

"Sabotage," Stout growled.

"They tested the stuff on whelps, and they died," said Sam. "It's a nasty, painful death, I hear..." And knowing that those whelps could be the _children_ of Nalice or Onyxia... she suppressed a shudder just on time.

"How's the guild?" said Leo.

"I talked to them," said Sam. "They're fine."

Stout and Leo exchanged glances. "So they haven't run into any trouble?" said Stout.

"I think they expected some kind of altercation after you left," Sam looked to Leo. "One that never came."

"They chased us out of Stormwind for _nothing_?" said Stout.

"Not nothing," said Leo. "We still have to get Reggie." He poked the badly-drawn map in front of him with the charcoal. The mage watched on, sweat pouring down his face before he grabbed another canteen and poured it over his head. Leo rescued the map from splashes.

"This is curious, what you say," Leo murmured.

"If it's true." Stout levelled a glare at Sam.

Sam just shook her head. "I don't expect you to believe me. Rumour has it you want to assassinate Katrana Prestor."

She'd meant the barb as a distraction for her lying, but Leo seized up, eyes hardening. And then she remembered the assassin that had fallen off the rooftops during the Winter's Veil dance, so long ago. "That was _you_?" Sam's eyes widened. "_You_ tried to kill Lady Prestor?"

"Of course not," Leo snapped, but Sam recognised the harried look of a guilty man. She pressed her lips together and looked down at the map. What little water had splashed on had already evaporated.

"They killed the man who tried to assassinate her," said Stout. "The dragonspawn. They cornered him in an alleyway and killed him. They serve Lady Prestor, they said so."

"_Said_ so." Leo frowned. "But now I wonder, perhaps that was their intention? To blame someone we hate to hide the _real_ dragon? Chase us out so we could not find them?"

And in Sam's mind, everything clicked. "The assassin was Rudolphus Withering."

Stout and Leo exchanged glances. "What makes you say that?" said Stout, as Leo put on a derisive sneer. Leo shot her a glare.

"They told me Rudolphus Withering went missing at Winter's Veil, that dragonspawn got him," said Sam. "So you _did_ arrange an assassination, and he was the one who carried it out, and he — he fell off the roof, but his back was turned to me so I didn't recognise him. And the guards followed him, and — "

"The guards turned out to be dragonspawn, yes." Leo rolled up the map, but not before Sam got another good look at it. "There's a plot in Stormwind regarding the Black Dragonflight, Sam. Letting out Reginald Windsor may be the key to uncovering it. He did a lot of recon while he was here, before the Dark Irons got him. He may have the answer. He may know what this is all about, what the Black Dragonflight might plan to do. But right now, it's too risky for me to go into Stormwind. The dragonspawn have marked me as an enemy, they chased me out of Stormwind."

"An assassination attempt on that Prestor bitch, eh?" said the gnome. "You never mentioned that. Impressive."

"If we fail, it's the noose for me, you know." Leo glanced at Sam. "Because of what I've done. If we uncover this plot, then our names would be cleared. We need to find Reginald Windsor. He _must_ have some information. And even if he's not... he's my friend. Which is more than apparently Bolvar thinks of him."

"I'm going to look for him." Sam stood. "I'll let you know if I find anything. Can I have more water, please?"

"There's caterpillars on you," said the gnome dazedly, inching away from Sam.

"He needs a priest," said Stout. "_Now_. He's waited long enough."

"I don't want you going in there alone," Leo said, looking at Sam.

"You do all the bloody time!" said Stout. "Leo, let her do it, we need to go find a priest before we waste more time."

"The dogs will smell her! It's a bloody miracle _I've_ avoided them for so long."

As Leo enticed the feverish gnome into producing some water, Sam said, "Do you know a Clarisse, Leo?"

Leo glanced up at her as the gnome fumbled with his magic. "Yes, I did. She was one of my father's little spies. And personal whores." His nose wrinkled. "Bloody hell, she's younger than _me_..."

"Were they close?"

"Funnily enough, yes." Leo handed her the waterskin the mage filled. Sam gave them both wavering smiles. "I think so, anyway. I always got the impression he told her things he didn't tell even me. Something about her that he liked more than most women."

Sam couldn't imagine what it was, and from the tone of his voice, neither did Leo. "She said we were half siblings," she said. "Do you know anything about that?"

"Half siblings?" Leo blinked at her. "Bloody hell, you're young enough to be my _daughter_."

"That's what I said." If only _Leo_ was her father instead, in spite of his loathing of Onyxia. He had a kind smile, and she longed to cling to him and cry and never stop. "Your father sounds like he gets around a bit..."

"I'm not surprised."

Anger flared. "You _knew_?"

"No!" said Leo. "But as I said... I'm not surprised. My father slept with any pretty thing that took his fancy. He often had to charm women as part of his missions, to get closer to his contacts. He was the best damn rogue Lordaeron had and it was hard to get a hold of him. Fel, when I was a teenager I had to help cover up one of his affairs and find a home for a baby boy who was only _one_ of our bastard half-sibs."

"I... see." Disappointment flooded her. How could her father be such an... such an _ass_?

_And he's dead. We'll never reconcile, even if he wanted to know me. Which he wouldn't._

And Nalice wondered why she preferred dragons.

And another sibling... what did he mean, _one_ of their siblings? There were more? "How many were there? Where's the boy now?"

"I don't know," said Leo. "Father never stuck around long, he didn't care. Most of them happened in Lordaeron, I expect some of them are even Forsaken now, if not Scourge. If they're unlucky. I got Eddy adopted by a noble family in Andorhal, as a servant boy."

"Why you?" Sam murmured. "Why did he raise _you_, and not any of the rest of us? He knew I was on the streets, he knew I was his daughter. Why _you_?"

"Because he had to," said Leo. "My mother was a noblewoman in the Lordaeron court. Terenas himself held her in high esteem, you know."

Sam perked, and blinked at him.

"Her family was one of the few families that knew my father personally," said Leo. "They'd wanted to take him out, or something, I don't know what. He heard rumours, seduced her to find out if they were true. They were. She got pregnant with me, he bolted. Rather, he tried. They dragged him back kicking and screaming, I hear." A faint smirk appeared on his face. "Good on 'em. They told him that he could raise the child and not tell a soul that he got my mother knocked up out of wedlock, and they wouldn't ruin his life. They had enough information they would, and they'd make damn sure he raised me and didn't give me away, either. So my mother had me in secret and my father took me." His eyes unfocused. "I don't even know what noble family she was a part of, or even her name." He ran a hand through her hair. "I used to think Kat Prestor was a half-sibling of mine, you know. Every time I encountered a ferocious little brat of a kid I thought they might be a long-lost sibling, because gods know what his blood would do to the kid. But, well. You never know."

If _only_ Kat Prestor was her sister!

"Leo," said Stout. "How touching and stuff, but we _need a goddamn priest_, and Morgan's Vigil is a long way away!"

Leo smiled at Sam, and she thought she would dissolve into tears on the spot as he clapped her on the shoulder. _Brother_. Family. The first family she'd had in forever. He wasn't like his father. "Take care of yourself," he said. "Come back here when you're done, and let us know what you find."

"I will," she lied.

Leo's smile grew. "And when this is all over, I'll come visit my niece. Tell her I say hi, will you? It'll be her birthday soon, won't it?"

A lump rose to Sam's throat. Her jaw tightened, and her vision blurred. She'd forgotten. For a few blissful hours, she'd forgotten…

"Oh, gods," came Leo's voice. "Is she alright?"

"She's gone," Sam choked. "Blood sickness."

"Oh, Light. I'm so sorry. I should have known you wouldn't just come out here when you had a baby to look after..."

"I'll be fine," said Sam. "Don't worry."

"Do you think you can wait and take care of him?" Leo looked down at the gnome. "We'll talk later." He pulled her into a hug.

He needed a bath.

"Of course," said Sam.

But when her brother and Stout left, she tucked the gnome into his bedroll and left him there.

-o-O-o-

Leo had left the map of the Detention Block on the cavern floor, and Sam had taken it, against her conscience's orders, and attached it to her belt.

The sounds of sobbing and crying preceeded the Detention, and the stench of urine and feces mingled with the smell of sweat as she weaved her way past miners towards it.

Family. She had family at last, and she was about to betray him. _Family_. But how could she choose between Onyxia, who'd saved her, and a brother who never cared? Why would he care _now_ that they were blood? His father never had.

_Because he has a heart. Because there's no reason why he should care for some random waif on the street, unless she was blood. He cares now, doesn't he?_

And she was about to murder his best friend to help his other best friend's wife.

She'd never killed before.

Reginald Windsor had a name, had a face she knew, had friends in Leonardo Withering and Bolvar Fordragon. And he had fought the Suicide Squad as she was in labour with — well, when she'd been in the infirmary. From what she'd heard, he'd been a good sport about his loss. Her throat tightened as she crept deeper into the Detention Block.

She cast the scentless spell as she entered. Dark Irons patrolled the premises. She heard the snuffling of hounds and tame dogs.

Nothing Leo could have said prepared her for what she saw.

Some of the prisoners hung from the ceiling in bird cages, cramped tight, bones jabbing out of their skin. She could have thrown up from the stench of death and decay, the sadistic laughter of the guards, the sobs that never ended that wormed their way into her head. She had to stop to cover her mouth, suppress the urge to be sick.

And Reginald Windsor was in there, somewhere, and had been for a long time. How could he have _borne_ it?

No wonder Leo was so bitter towards Bolvar. Bolvar had been so quick to give up on Windsor, but if he knew Windsor was in this atrocity...

Would he come to the rescue? Or would he still have abandoned him? He was human, after all.

But Leo had come for Windsor, and he was human. And a Black Dragon would abandon anyone stupid enough to be captured to their fates —

_Stupid enough!_ Windsor wasn't _stupid_, coming out here to save his kingdom, was he? But he was an enemy of the Black Dragonflight. He supported the capture of dragon children as _pets_, the skinning and murder of Onyxia's kin for armour. Jettion had been such a cute pet, until Nalice said... _"And what would you do if Amandine was captured to be kept and raised as a dumb pet?"_ Nalice had spat at her. _"If she had been skinned? Yes, Samantha, you heard me: they even skinned the whelps."_

Sam grit her teeth.

This was hell. Listening to the dying, the distant screams of tortured prisoners, the sick... she thought she heard somebody's breath rattling in their chest and for a brief moment she was in the cool infirmary with a dead baby in her arms and the scent of a night breeze on her nose. She suppressed her tears.

South. She had to go south. Past the dogs.

And she had to find a cell that Leo hadn't found in two months.

But she had the scent-concealing spell on her side; Leo hadn't that. With that in mind, she plunged deep into the southern corridors where the dogs were thickest. Occasionally they cocked an ear or turned a head, but with no smell to tell them of an intruder, they relaxed. She proceeded as silent as a ghost far past where Leo would have been able to go.

Reginald Windsor couldn't be far away.

Avoiding the patrols was easy enough. Finding the right cell wasn't. She stopped by each door, listening. If she heard a thick bellow inside, then, well, Windsor wasn't in there. Humans didn't tend to sound like cranky orcs, after all. If there was silence, she tried the handle. Some were unlocked and empty. The locked ones she bent beside, peering through the gap above the floor. There would be little light, but it was easy to make out human feet. All the prisoners were barefoot. Most of them were dwarves. Some elves. A strange amount of orcs. When she saw human feet she tried every key in the lock, or picked it, waited for a patrol to pass and allowed the door to drift ajar.

Sometimes the prisoners heard the creak. They looked up, faces full of dread, and when she did not recognise them she closed the door, leaving them to their relief that nobody would hurt them.

Not a single one didn't have scars.

She searched for what felt like hours. She re-cast the spell with paranoia, conserving what little mana she had when she dared. Every now and then she stopped in a corner and took a drink. After a while her stomach growled. The last thing she needed was for it to give her away. She wished she'd had the foresight to ask the gnome for some mana biscuits or conjured bread. She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten.

She searched and searched and searched, until finally, she opened the door and found a familiar face.

* * *

_**A/N:** Whoa, thanks to everyone who reviewed! It always makes me happy to see new faces too, so hello._

**_Seripithus:_**_ Onyxia would totally wield that pen by filling it with the blood of her enemies, too._

**_JustMe:_**_ I loved writing that part. Thank you._

**_Brosauce:_**_ You're not the only person to think so! Oh gawd._

**_Goth:_**_ Thank you so much. That really cheered me up to read!_

**_Tito:_**_ Indeed. We shall see how she'll try to get around this..._

**_Zeitlos:_**_ Heh heh heh._

**_Etincelle:_**_ Thanks!_

**_Tarod007:_**_ We'll see about that! ;)_

**_Maraad:_**_ More DoTs! More DoTs! Then DPS very very slowly._


	38. Reunion

_**A/N:**__ Thank you to __**Coincidencless**__, for her beta-work, and for the amusing mental image of a mini-Yogg-Saron on Bolvar's shoulder. And if **Diloph** is right, he's probably drunk, too._

**_PLEASE READ: Re: Cataclysm continuity:_**_ A couple of people have mentioned **patch 4.3**. Oh, crap._

_I got the idea for this story in April '10, and didn't actually start writing until February of this year, and didn't actually start updating consistently until April '11. I had no idea the story would get this long, and a lot of it was me exploring what could happen, and making up speculation and putting it in this story. I thought the story would be finished by the time the Deathwing raid came out and trashed every single theory I explored here._

_Basically, some of that speculation has been proven to be wrong and more will probably be proven wrong as the raid comes out. I've already set the stage for several events to happen which canon now contradicts, and would__ be impossible for me to fix, so I figure I may as well go the full nine yards._

_So yes. **The Obsidian Dawn contradicts lore**, and will do so even worse later on. I hope that the story makes up for this. I'm very sorry to those who thought/hoped I would adapt. _

_I didn't think I'd have to._

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

* * *

As dark turned into dawn, and dawn turned into day, Sam and Nalice failed to return.

As lunch time approached, it found Katrana standing in the dark, in the passage between their quarters and Bolvar's, leaning against the wall near the bookshelf ago Kat's human eyes had adjusted. Though she couldn't see the detail in the walls like she could before her pregnancy, humans couldn't see in the dark any better than dragons could.

It was a Saturday morning, but Bolvar had been in there instead of with her since he'd awakened.

_Sabel can't be the traitor,_ she heard Onyxia say in his head. She listened carefully, ready to mask any suspicion Bolvar felt as her subconscious worked itself out in his head. Ever since she'd made the bond worse, he heard a constant incoherent buzzing in the back of his mind, Draconic words he didn't recognise swimming in his head. _I love him. He's my brother. I love and miss him and I wish he would come back. He can't have betrayed me. It can't have been a ruse. He wouldn't kill me... but he'd want revenge if his entire Brood was slaughtered, wouldn't he? If not against the gronn, then he'd be angry at the Flight for what he's suffered his entire life?_

Bolvar ignored her. His prickly mood grew sharper and sharper at the edge of her consciousness as the voices continued to hound him.

_Yes_, the Old God whispered to him. _You shouldn't be like this. You shouldn't have to put up with this. You are angry. You feel so angry..._

_Leave him alone_, said Onyxia.

_She infects your mind like poison... Get mad._

_And now the voices are telling me to do things_, said Bolvar. In Kat's mind's eye, she glimpsed the turn of pages, had an impression of a bright window and black letters. _Great. As if I wasn't batshit insane enough already._

_I miss Sabel._ She felt dread and sadness accompany the unbidden thought. _He can't have done this. It's impossible. He wouldn't!_

_Gullible fool,_ the Old God hissed. _Of course he could. How could you be so stupid as to be blind to the possibility? Why would he not want revenge? He is weak, and yet he has managed to survive this long. Of course he would take his weakness out on you all... and then prove strongest of all._

_No_, said Onyxia. _It can't be. Especially if_ you _think so!_

Kat heard Bolvar groan and mutter. _I can't catch a break. I don't even know what either of you are going on about! And stop obsessing over dragons._

The poor man.

Kat rose a knuckle and rapped on the back of the book case. "Bolvar, can I come in?"

_I'm really not in the mood, _she heard Bolvar's mind say. But aloud he said, "Of course."

She nudged the book case open, careful of any books she might dislodge. She stepped inside as best as she could with her swollen belly getting in the way, and pushed it closed behind her. "You have not been home all morning," she said. At the bookcase on the opposite wall, beside a bright window, Bolvar flicked through a book without looking at her. Again, she saw black letters in her mind's eye, a blurred illustration of a sword as he stared past the page into nothingness.

_We unsettle him,_ said Onyxia._ The bond unsettles him. And the Old God just makes it worse. He's dealt with this long enough._

_For fuck's sake, not only does Onyxia think she lives in my head, but now I think an Old God does? Great._

_Shush, little mortal, _said Onyxia._ You are hurt._

"I'm sorry, Kat," he said. "I'm just taking a break from work." _I hate lying to her. I can't let her see me like this, twitching and snapping at voices no one else can hear._

It had gotten so _bad_. And the Old God... Kat suppressed a shudder. Just as it would pollute her poor son or daughter, it sank its claws into the human in front of her. Just as it would her child.

She had to defeat an Old God to save not only her Flight but her own mortal child and its father.

But how? How could you fight an _Old God?_ They'd been locked away, not destroyed, there had to be a reason for that. All this time, the Black Dragonflight had been a symptom of Azeroth's disease, keeping it at bay.

_And look what you got for your sacrifice,_ the Old God said. _The other Flights should have known. They should have guessed that we would poison you. _But they either did not, or…_ They did not care. They held you responsible for the crimes we committed. They drove you to the edge of extinction because of what we did._

_I shan't listen to you_, said Onyxia.

"I'm so sick of this," Bolvar murmured.

He jumped when Kat lay a hand on his shoulder. Had he forgotten she was there? "What troubles you, Bolvar?" she said. "Let me help."

_Katrana has all the tact of a bear and the sympathy of a mosquito, _said the Old God._ If you tell her about this she will have Anduin taken away from you. She will never allow you to see your own child. You will be locked up, disgraced, mocked and reviled. You know what she is capable of._

"It's nothing," Bolvar murmured.

The Old God _knew_ she knew already. How could it not? But thanks to her, it now had another unwitting puppet.

How long until it took the rest of the mortals, too?

_No_, said Onyxia. Y_ou cannot have him. Tell her, Bolvar. She will support you. She will fight tooth and nail for you and you know that the moment she decides to protect you, nothing will ever touch you again._

_For Light's sake, _said Bolvar_. What _are_ you two? Good Bolvar and Bad Bolvar? Ugh._

_You know I am right,_ said Onyxia.

Impulsively Kat grasped the human's jaw and turned it towards her for a kiss. She felt the small comfort it gave him as he rested his hands on her hips. "Talk to me, Bolvar. What's wrong? You have been so stressed."

_You will feel so much better if you are not fighting alone, _said Onyxia.

He smiled softly. Hesitated.

_Not a word, _said the Old God. _Or it will all be over._

_Tell her, just to spite him. Honestly, do you truly want to obey _him_? Do you want him to have power over you?_

_Do you want _her_ to have power over you? _saidtheOldGod_. No matter who you listen to, one of us will always control you._

_I would set you free, if I could,_ said Onyxia.

Bolvar blurted out, "Kat, I think I'm insane."

_Shit_, said Bolvar. _Shouldn't have said that._

_It shall be alright,_ said Onyxia.

_You just made the worst mistake of your life,_ said the Old God. _It's over. Backtrack. Cover it up. Before it can be made worse._

_You shan't control him._

_Because he is your puppet instead? Onyxia, what have you ever _been_ but our puppet? Even if he obeys you, he obeys us as well._

_No_, snarled Onyxia.

The Old God gave a deep chuckle which chilled Katrana. _And who do you think gave you the idea of manipulating the human races instead of making peace with them?_

"Fuck," Bolvar muttered, allowing his forehead to fall onto Katrana's shoulder. She was not much shorter than he was. "Kat, I'm... a damn lunatic. I hear voices all the time. It's driving me insane. I can't make them go away."

She felt his despair twist her heart, felt her stomach churn with his. She tangled her fingers in his hair and stroked his cheek with the other hand. "Tell me about it. Let me help."

"If anyone finds out about this they'll think I'm insane. They'll think I want to hurt them. I don't, Kat, I never did — "

"I know."

"I can't bear it anymore. One thinks it's a dragon. The other thinks it's an Old God. And lately it's only gotten worse, my head is always buzzing, it's only growing louder. Kat, I don't think I'm getting better."

Katrana had never heard a male human sob before. She lowered her voice into a crooning tone. "Bolvar, there is nothing wrong with you."

"Yes there is! I'm a complete _lunatic_, I'm — I don't know what made this happen but there's _everything_ wrong with me, please listen — "

"No, Bolvar, you mistake me," she said, continuing to allow her touch to soothe the distressed human. "I do not deny that you hear them. I trust you to speak the truth, to know your own mind. What I say is that there is nothing wrong with _you_. Your mind may malfunction, it may grow sick, but you are not your mind. You are the consciousness behind it, you are your courage and your integrity, but you are not your _mind_. There is nothing wrong with _you_."

_She is placating you,_ said the Old God. _When she has soothed you she will run, and she will be right to do so. You are insane. You will hurt her, one day. You will lash out. This is getting worse, and you will never get better!_

_Oh for fuck's sake, shut up,_ said Bolvar. _Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

_It will be alright,_ said Onyxia. _I promise. I'm so sorry._

"Yes, there is," he murmured. "There is everything wrong with me."

She took both sides of his jaw and made him look at her. Reflexively, he leaned forward, and she did not deny him another small kiss as she murmured, "You must have borne this terrible burden for a long time."

"Yes." He lowered his eyes. "Kat, I'm sorry."

"Look at me," she said.

He did.

"You have never hurt me," said Kat. "You have never hurt anyone who did not attack you, you have never killed or injured except in the line of duty."

"That was _before_ this started."

"But you have not hurt me either since it has started, no?" said Kat. "Perhaps the voices whisper poison in your ear. Perhaps you cannot always fight them..." She felt a lurch of guilt. How many times _had_ she used Onyxia's voice disguised as his own, in the beginning, to control him? How many times had she made his own mind betray him? "But you are no monster, Bolvar."

"Kat, you don't get how bad this is," he said. "I'm _insane_. One of them pretends to be _you_, sometimes. Pretends that you're a dragon, that you're going to betray me... and it took it out on you. It's not fair on you at all. I don't deserve you, I don't want to hurt you, but I did. You were out all night because I wasn't strong enough."

"Bolvar," she said. "You are the strongest person I know." Who else could have borne this burden and not been driven to _true_ insanity? Who else could have fought it alone for so long? Who else could have successfully hidden it from all the other mortals so completely?

Bolvar had done what an entire Dragonflight could not and _resisted an Old God!_

"And you do not believe it, surely?" she said.

"Sometimes..." He rested his head on her shoulder. "Gods, Kat. I'm so, so sorry."

"Shush," She wrapped her arms around him, wishing more than anything that the pregnancy wouldn't get in the way of her embrace. "Your own mind has betrayed you. You are stronger than you know to have dealt with it so long. But you are not alone anymore. I am here, and I will always be here for you."

He laughed bitterly. "How can you just accept it so easily?"

_How do you know she will not betray you?_ said the Old God.

"How do I..." Bolvar shook his head. _No, I'm not listening to you, fuck off. ... Gods, how can I ever get a grip on reality again?_ "How can you just accept this so easily?"

He was not listening. Perhaps she needed a more... potent weapon. One that she had not thought to use until now.

And what was a greater weapon than words? "_Look_ at me," she said, but it was a moment before his green eyes met hers again. "Because I love you, as you are. You have always done the same for me, even when I angered and hurt you, how can I not help but do the same for you?"

He stared at her.

_That's right, little Kat,_ said the Old God. _Lie. Lie like you've always done so._

"You are the most respectful man I've ever met." Kat ignored it. "You allow me my space even when you want me to be close, even when it hurts you. You accept that I am not an affectionate woman and that I am and can be cold. You have been frustrated with me, yes, but only a superhuman would not be. You have always allowed me to grow at my own rate and it makes me realise how..."

Her? Lost for words?

Impossible.

"How lucky I am to have you," she finished in a murmur.

_Liar_, said the Old God.

... But she'd spoken the truth.

She'd heard of infatuation. She heard of a love that made the heart stutter, that heated blood and sent it rushing through the veins, of a love that caught the breath. She thought she could not feel love because she never felt _that_. It was a fragile thing, something which never lasted for long, which was powerful but not _strong_.

But this… This felt like the enormous roots of Teldrassil which reached deep within Azeroth, and every bit as stable and unmovable. It was quiet, it grew without her noticing, it did not crash through the rooms of her mind and announce its presence with fiery passion that could easily be snuffed out.

She'd once thought him weak. She'd chosen him as Regent Lord for that very reason. And in some ways, he was, but in others... no. He was the strongest human she knew. She had only ever been able to manipulate him because she preyed on his desire for everyone to be equal, for everyone to have their say, for everyone to have what they deserved.

And it took so, so much more strength to go out of one's way to make everyone's life better than to care selfishly about only one's own.

_She would protect this human from anything._ From her own Flight if she had to. This human was her mate now, even if the bond had yet to be consummated. But she considered him one all the same. After the child was born, that could be fixed.

No wonder Sabel admired mortals so much. Their society was better than her own. The humans were distant relations, descended from the same stone and earth Deathwing had been made of before the Curse of Flesh.

"I love you too, Kat." It was only when the human spoke that Kat realised how much silence had passed between them. "This isn't what I expected, all of this. But that's a good thing. I'm so happy you're here. With me." He gave a wry smirk. "And that nobody else has you."

She thought of Hora, her other mate. Humans did not take kindly to mating outside of a monogamous bond, even out of necessity.

Oops.

_She's barely batting an eyelid, _she heard him say. _I truly am lucky._

Time for an experiment. _That's because she's secretly me,_ said Onyxia.

Bolvar twitched. _Shut up. That's not funny._

This may be the key to having him become less suspicious, which in turn meant she would have to use less magic. If she grounded him verbally, reinforced the idea that the voices were merely paranoia, then the bond could wane at last...

But she'd used so much magic. What if she had made it permanent? What if it could not be broken? What if he had to live with the voices forever?

"You know," he murmured into her hair, stroking her cheek. "The little one is almost here and you haven't mentioned names yet."

"Neither have you." Odd, how comforting physical contact could be.

"I was waiting for you to come up with something." He chuckled. She felt his lightness. A burden had been lifted from his shoulders, one so heavy that he felt as if he could fly. "Tell you what, you can name the first if I name the second, yes?"

A tiny thrill ran through her, before logic caught up in the form of Onyxia and her subconscious loudly declared, _Oh Titans, no. Can you imagine what it would be like with two murderous little psychopaths running around?_

_I don't think I'd be that bad a parent,_ said Bolvar dryly.

"I was thinking perhaps I could name the child after my brother," she said.

_If he's not the traitor,_ said the Old God helpfully. _Otherwise you would be quite foolish._

_No_, said Onyxia quietly. _He isn't… he can't be. Because Evenian doesn't have a limp…_

"His name was Sabel, wasn't it?" said Bolvar. _My mind has been reminding me of it all day!_

"Yes."

"You can feminise it, too."

"You have no protests?" Kat arched an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that naming children was a painstaking process for new parents that involved substantial quantities of blood, sweat and tears, and a proportionate amount of fighting."

Bolvar laughed. "I'm just glad you're here, with me. And besides," he grinned at her. Kat waited for Onyxia's hackles to rise in response to the bared teeth. They didn't. "It's nowhere near as bad as _Bolvar_!"

-o-O-o-

To the sound of the creaking door, Reginald Windsor's eyes flicked up, but when they found nothing, he froze. The door closed behind Sam with a near-silent click. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. She heard his breath in the darkness. It sounded wet. The red skin on his face beaded with sweat.

But in the cold cells of the detention block, Sam had to stop herself from shivering.

"Leo?" he rasped, his voice weak. "Is that you?"

She could remain silent, let him think his fever played tricks on him. His eyes searched in the darkness, unable to see her, not focusing on her. She could draw her daggers and plunge them into his stomach. His ribs showed through the rags. His face looked gaunt. Killing him would be easy after a year of malnutrition...

And he would die soon, anyway. Why not save him a long, painful death?

When nothing happened he sighed, his massive shoulders sagging.

Pity pricked her like a needle.

"No." She dropped the shroud around her, stepped out of the realm that only rogues could use to disguise themselves. "I'm his sister."

"Since when does Leo have a sis — " Reginald Windsor looked up and recognition sparked in his eyes. "Samantha Inkweaver. Bloody hell. I never thought… see _you_ down here. Where are the others?" His eyes threatened to slide out of focus. "Where's… Leo?"

"I came alone." She slid down the back of the door, keeping her voice low, but above the moans and crying of the other prisoners what guard would hear them talk? She drew her knees up to her chest, gazing at him. His head nodded with exhaustion. He looked so weak.

If she didn't kill him, she'd never become a Dragonsworn. If she became a Dragonsworn she'd have a whole new world opened up for her. She'd even get a new name. She wouldn't ever have to be _Samantha_ again. She'd choose a new name to follow Black dragon naming conventions, as every Dragonsworn did. Perhaps she'd be Samanthia, or maybe even…

"What are… are you doing here alone?" When she did nothing, his wet brow knotted with a frown. "C-can't get past the guards with just two."

"No," she said. "I hear you've been chasing dragons."

Again, a great sigh took him. Depression had etched lines deep into his face, more than she remembered. After all this, she didn't blame him. She'd been miserable over far less. "Dragons," he moaned. "Stormwind is… lost. They've infiltrated the Keep… stand feet away from… he does not see. Varian was the first, the goblin said, Varian was taken far away, kidnapped… Black dragons…"

To anyone else, it would sound like feverish babbling. But to hear that Onyxia was responsible for Varian's disappearance did not surprise Sam.

Anduin would _not_ be happy about that.

"See what?" said Sam.

"Onyxia." Windsor's eyes fluttered closed. "Had a weapon, tablets… Dark Irons took them away, need them. Have to reveal her… Fordragon is…" He laughed. "Gonna jam the proof down his _throat_."

"So a goblin told you about Onyxia?" said Sam. "Did he have black hair by any chance?"

"Yeah," said Windsor's hoarse voice as his eyes cracked open again. "Black hair, short, worked for… said he worked for Nefarian, that he'd rescue me if he wasn't killed…" He coughed wetly. "Forever ago."

Nalice had said that dragons could transform into any mortal race…

By living he endangered the Flight that saved her. She owed it to Onyxia, who had saved her life, who'd saved her child's life for as long as it lasted, who'd sat with her in her grief.

"You're… with her, aren't you?"

The sudden words caused Sam to look up at him.

"I can see it… the way you look at me." Windsor's face was grim. "You come here for a purpose, but you can't… can't bring yourself."

"I have to kill you," said Sam. "To keep her safe."

Windsor barked laughter. "Safe? She's as safe as she could _be_. It's only a matter of time before she picks off the rest of the nobility and she's left in charge."

"... left in charge?" Wasn't Katrana Prestor second only to -—

Oh.

"Yes," said Windsor. "She's been clawing her way up the ladder. Once Stormwind's under… control, nothing will stop her."

"Onyx wouldn't do that," said Sam. "She's been kind to me."

"_Onyx?_"

"Onyxia. She's nice, you know, once you get to know her."

Windsor burst into bitter laughter once more. "Yes, I bet she is. Who isn't? Do yourself a favour, Sam. Turn around, get out of here… never go back. Gotta be a… better destiny than to be the pawn of the Black Dragonflight."

"I've never killed before."

"And I suppose you want encouragement?" Windsor coughed and wheezed. He rose his eyebrows, gazing at Sam with sunken eyes. "You'd be doing me a favour. May 'swell get it over with, mmm?"

He was giving up. Just like a _human_ would. She wouldn't, of course, she was better than that, and…

She gazed at him for a long moment. Did she want the human to die, a human whose only crime was to do what he thought was best for his people? He would die anyway, she should put him out of his misery, and…

Onyxia had been kind to her. Onyxia had saved her. Onyxia liked humans, just as Sam liked dragons.

Sam climbed to her feet.

Reginald watched as she approached. Sam drew her knife.

She held it out to his throat, and sliced his shoulder. He winced, and as blood pooled, she soaked it over her hands. "You'd better take care of that," she said. Her voice sounded as hollow as she felt. She had a job to do... but who cared? Everyone would die anyway, one day. Ever since her baby had died, the life had been sucked out of everything, and she walked as an empty shell who hadn't yet realised it should drop to the ground and disintegrate into dust. "I won't kill you. I can leave you here to die, where you can't hurt her or anyone she loves. I won't endanger her, or her children. But I won't kill you. You're sick anyway, and you'll be lucky if that doesn't get infected. You'll be dead within a week."

And Sam slipped out, locking the door behind her.

-o-O-o-

"He's dead?" said Nalice, sniffing the air and looking at the blood on Sam's hands. "Good. But did you pick up anything?"

Sam produced only the keys Stout had given her.

Nalice frowned. "I do not see how we are supposed to entice Evenian into drinking a potion Hora informed me he would not with _these_."

"Maybe I wasn't supposed to find anything," said Sam. "Maybe Hora just wanted to delay the drinking."

Sam hadn't heard the foreign word that burst out of Nalice's word before, but it didn't sound polite.

-o-O-o-

It was after sundown that Nalice and Sam arrived in the Keep, but Katrana sent them away at first. Bolvar was still awake, and whatever they had to discuss was better off talked about without him in earshot.

And besides, he had allowed Onyxia to discover that the human shoulders were sensitive and that the act of kneading them was a human bonding ritual. She found herself to be quite appreciative of this.

It was not until he was asleep and the lights had been out for hours that Katrana found Nalice and Sam in Sam's quarters. Sam slouched over a table, head on her arm, fast asleep until Nalice gave her a good jab. Sam shrieked as she awoke, and blinked at Onyxia blearily.

"It is done?" said Onyxia.

Sam nodded and averted her eyes.

"Do not feel guilt." Humans were affected by killing in a way no dragon ever could be. "You have done the right thing to protect us all." Onyxia sat as she produced the vial. "How do we give this to him?"

"The Bronze lied," said Nalice. "We have found nothing. Perhaps the Bronze meant to delay the imbibing of the mixture."

"For the highest good, I hope." Onyxia gazed at the liquid. _It can't be Sabel. _It was impossible, unless… but no, he wouldn't have suffered for ten thousand years if it was reversible. "We need to get Evenian here. But how?"

"We hardly need to kidnap him," said Nalice. She jabbed Sam with a long finger again. "You. Sneak into the servants' quarters. Locate Quinn Summers and inform him that his mistress must see him immediately. We will have to force it down his throat, then."

"Who?" said Sam.

"No, we must wait until morning." Onyxia's human body needed sleep, and a small part of her missed the sound of Bolvar's breathing beside her. "Once the first assembly tomorrow is in session, Nalice, you will find Evenian and have him brought to my quarters." She frowned, looking at Sam's drooping head. "And Sam needs sleep."

"It is hardly my fault if she is incapable of falling asleep in my claws." Nalice's nose wrinkled in disgust. "I had to _carry_ her."

Sam mumbled something. Onyxia didn't catch it, but Nalice scowled. Onyxia rose. "Meet in my study tomorrow morning once Bolvar is gone. Make sure Evenian comes with you."

"And the Dragonsworn-in-training?" Nalice's eyes slid to Sam, who had fallen asleep again.

"I see no reason why she cannot attend," said Onyxia. "But first... carry her to bed."

Nalice looked disgusted, but didn't protest.

-o-O-o-

The next morning Sam still looked tired and sore, but better than she had the evening before. Onyxia sat behind her desk, her mortal pregnancy all-too obvious. She didn't like the timing of this. The child could be born any time soon, it had settled lower in Onyxia's womb and could be born in _days_, if not hours, and when it did...

The last thing she needed was labour to get in the way of anything she had to do.

But then, it would be _just_ like Hora to time Onyxia's labour to interrupt a crucial event. _Ugh_.Perhaps that was even why she'd delayed the imbibing of the potion.

When Evenian came in, flanked by Sam and Nalice, Onyxia gestured to the seat in front of her desk. "Evenian. We must have a word. Sit."

Evenian looked unconcerned as he obeyed. Onyxia pushed the vial to him. "Drink," she said.

"Yellow?" Evenian's eyes slid towards the vial. His face went paled. "I know that — "

_No. Please, no._ Few other dragons knew about Sabel's special mixture…

_It can't be him it can't be he doesn't have a limp he can't have just cured it what if it's a servant or a dragonsworn please Sabel you can't have you can't have I love you PLEASE —_

_By the Light_, said Bovlar's voice, all the way in the assembly hall. _What's gotten _you_ into a tizzy?_

Onyxia stifled her panic and sat back in her chair. "Drink it. _Now_. Or I will personally find a way to drag your dead body to Romathis to show him what you have done. It is one thing for a Scalebane to betray his Flight... but a Scalebane has nothing to gain, does he?" She tapped her nails against the wood of the desk. "But you. You have everything to gain, and nothing to lose, if you win. Drink."

"I have not betrayed the Flight," said Evenian. "I am doing what is best for it, always."

_No, please, Sabel, you can't!_ As Onyxia's subconscious began to weep, she felt Bolvar strain to focus through the influx of emotion. _Please Sabel, I love you, you helped me, you always helped me, you can't have…_

"I could walk away," said Evenian. "I could leave and you'd never have to make — "

Sam struck.

All dragons jumped as Sam sliced at Evenian with a dagger, cutting through the shoulder of his clothing. Evenian yelped, and Nalice grabbed the back of Sam's shirt and hauled her away, snarling. "_What is the meaning of this?_"

Sam shrieked as the back of her head connected with the wall. "Hora didn't lie! She didn't — _ow, Nalice, let me talk!_"

Evenian clutched his shoulder, snarling. Onyxia stood. "Nalice, let her go. Sam, what have you done? Are you alright?"

"Head hurts, but I'm fine, ow." Sam rubbed the back of her head. "Hora didn't lie. Our answer to getting him to take the potion really _was_ in Blackrock. Only, Nalice thought it'd be something we'd find… but it wasn't." She held up the dagger that had been sheathed until seconds ago. Only then, in the light, did Onyxia see the yellow sheen that matched the mixture on her desk. "Hora knew that if Nalice sent me in there, she'd have to give me a weapon first. And a simple cut sends it straight into his bloodstream…"

Nalice let go. Sam fell to the ground. "I _do_ choose my Dragonsworn well."

Nalice sounded more proud of _herself_ than Sam, Onyxia noted as she glanced to Evenian, whose eyes began to glaze over. But that didn't stop Onyxia saying, "Sam, that will be the closest you will ever come to receiving a compliment from Nalice. Savour it."

"But we could have simply used a knife without having to go to all that trouble…" Nalice frowned. "Although, Windsor _is_ dead so it was not a total waste."

"I wouldn't have thought of it otherwise." Sam sounded smug. "And neither of _you_ thought of it either!"

"Watch it, human."

The distraction had minimal effect on Onyxia's frayed nerves. In front of her, Evenian's glassy eyes stared into nothingness as he slumped in his chair, blood staining his shirt.

Nobody said a word.

Onyxia discreetly took a deep breath through her nostrils. "Evenian. What names have you gone by to the humans in the last twenty years?"

"Stephen Fletcher." Evenian's voice was low. Sam had to step closer to hear. "Quinn Summers."

"And to us?"

"Evenian."

"But that is not your true name."

"No."

_I have to ask, I have to ask, I don't want to, I can't bear —_ "Was there ever a real Evenian?"

"Yes."

_It can't be Sabel, it can't be! _"Who was he? What happened to him?"

"He was Romathis's contact within the Keep." Evenian's eyes slipped closed. "A spy… kept an eye on you, but not to act against you. I killed him a few years ago. Stephen Fletcher had no friends and few acquaintances. Nobody even guessed when I used magic to imitate his scent."

_Please, Sabel, it can't be…_

More silence. Then Nalice said, "Get on with it."

"What was your purpose in betraying the Flight?" said Onyxia.

"I did not betray the Flight." Evenian's eyes did not open. "It betrayed us. It left so many behind, so many to die… children, mates, fighters alike."

Onyxia's vision began to blur. Sam looked alarmed. Nalice's face twisted with disgust.

_Sabel…_

"Could have saved them," Evenian murmured. "Could have prevented so much death, but you never did… the Dark Portal closed, left them trapped, and you didn't even try…"

Her hands, hidden underneath the desk, clenched into fight fists. Her nails dug into her palm. The pain kept her grounded. "Do I know your real name, Evenian?"

"Yes."

Her jaw clenched. Sam wrung her hands. Nalice narrowed her eyes.

"Then tell me," said Onyxia. "Who are you?"

Evenian did not answer at first. Onyxia wondered if the mixture had been too potent as his head slumped against his shoulder. He wasn't unconscious, was he? Or had he lost too much blood? Then his lips parted, and he spoke so quietly that she almost did not hear. "Orion."

Onyxia blinked.

Wait.

What?

She didn't realise she'd sagged in relief until Nalice snapped. "But Orion is _dead_! How could he have faked it?"

"No," said Evenian. "'Twas a simple matter of having a whelpling claim to witness my death and dismemberment at the hands of humans… who would have checked? Nobody in our Flight cares enough about the others to make sure they're dead. Humans would have taken the bones and sold them. There'd be nothing left…"

"They said he died _years_ ago," said Onyxia. "That you… this was _you_?"

"Yes."

Nalice crossed her arms, frowning. "It would be a simple matter to fake one's death in that manner, given how busy the dragons were in Blackrock. Yes, I do remember, Orion was _very_ upset when the Dark Portal closed."

"He was so deeply in love with Sabel," Onyxia murmured. "Would do anything for him."

Orion laughed weakly, struggling to raise his head. "You think this was all for Sabel? Onyxia, just because you would mate with your own brother doesn't mean the rest of us thought the sun shined from his behind." Onyxia snarled. "I had other consorts, too. Consorts who _died_ in Outland. Children who answered Deathwing's call to arms, family that never came home. Because _you_ abandoned them. We could have worked to reopen the Dark Portal, we had an entire Flight at our disposal, but you never did. Just like your father, you _left them there to die_. And so did Romathis. And for that, I was quite willing to watch you _all_ die…"

"But what would that achieve?" said Onyxia. "What did you hope to achieve by killing the rest of us?"

"Death purges the weak so that the rest of us may grow strong." Orion's head slumped over again. "If you were weak enough to die, if you were _all_ weak enough to die, then that just proved me strongest in the end. They said that because I chosen Sabellian, a weakling, as a consort, I was weak myself. I would prove them wrong. I'd prove them that he'd survived so long that he was stronger than the rest of us, and so were those who'd gone with him. They would have lived. Our best and strongest went to Outland… they would not have died out. The weak would have been purged, we would have been reunited with the strong, and I would have led them all…"

"Ah, he wants to take over the world," said Nalice lightly.

"Don't you ever wonder why Deathwing left you and Romathis here, Onyxia?" Orion smirked. With his closed eyes and sagging head, the expression unnerved her. "Don't you ever wonder why he chose Sabellian instead? Sabellian, who had been disabled since he was a whelp? Sabellian, who'd been surrounded with nothing but weak mortals? Sabellian, who bore more attempts on his life than the rest of the Flight combined for his disability? It's because Deathwing knew that only a strong dragon could have survived all that. Because he knew that you and Romathis would not have lived through the things Sabellian had, the amount of times he had almost had his life taken from him but clung to it like a drowning mortal. You are all obsessed with physical and emotional strength, but Sabellian had something much better — wisdom, knowledge, fortitude and cunning. _He_ was the ideal Black dragon. Not the rabble. He wanted _Sabellian_ as his heir. Not Romathis. Not you." Orion's smirk grew. "And you've both proven him right by allowing me to wreak havoc for so long. By not talking to each other, as Sabellian would have thought to have done. By being suspicious of each other immediately, rather than seeking proof like Sabellian would have done. You two have weakened us all, you disgust me, and I want you both to _die_."

"Excellent, is that all?" said Nalice. "Shall we kill him now? I expect I shall have to alert Romathis of this. I did enjoy that speech, every single part of it was true, although I truly do question my grandfather's motives. Perhaps my father was skilled, yes, but he was still _awfully_ soft and pathetic in a way reminiscent of that night elven brat's dog when I have to kick it."

"Wow," said Sam quietly.

Onyxia leaned back in her chair. Relief had drained all the energy from her. _It wasn't Sabel._ Thank the Light. Thank the Titans. Thank _everything_. Her brother had always been loyal to her…

But _Orion_. She'd always thought him too much of an idiot, a weakling, to believe in their ways. She thought he'd followed the old ways as religiously as Sabel had… or had that just been a front? Just something to throw her off the scent so she would never suspect?

"Do you have other plans, Orion?" said Onyxia. "Aside from Reginald Windsor? Aside from pitting my brother and I against each other?"

"No," said Orion.

"Reginald Windsor was your backup plan, wasn't he?"

"Yes. I told him of Varian Wrynn. I told him of you."

She snorted, and changed the subject. "You said once upon a time that consorts loved each other."

"Yes."

"You loved him. You loved them all."

"Yes."

"You would have given your life to protect them. You knew that if you were discovered, you would be killed."

"Yes." Orion's head rose again, glazed eyes meeting Onyxia's. "I would do anything for them. And I did. I would have seen the entire world dead if it meant I would see them all again. Would you not have done the same for your children? Perhaps you care not for your own kin, but I remember how protective you were of our clutches…"

_Yes. I would have._

"I shall take him into the wilds whilst he is still under the influence and slay him there," said Nalice. "The humans shan't find him. I shall take his head to Romathis as a trophy for our victory."

"No," said Onyxia quietly. "Sam, take him out of the keep and send him away. Tell him to leave and never return. He will be under the influence, he will not turn on you as long as you are far away when it wears off. If anyone asks, he is drunk."

Sam helped a stumbling Orion from the chair. "Um, that shoulder looks bad. Do you need to see Bronzewing?"

"I will heal it," said Orion. "I have knowledge of shamanistic ways."

"Yes, Sabellian would have taught him," said Onyxia. _Sabel would not have killed him. _"Just as Sabellian would have taught him about alchemy and cooking mortal food…"

_Cake, Sabel?_ Thought Onyxia. _Really? You taught him to bake _cake_?_

Once both were out of the room, Nalice stormed to the desk and slammed her hands down. "_Are you completely incompetent?_"

Onyxia rose her eyebrow. "_Think_, Nalice. He will be under the influence long enough for Sam to lead him out of the Keep, but even if we gave him the entire vial he wouldn't stay under long enough for you to take him deep enough into the wilds to kill him. There are farms for _miles_ outside of the city, extending further than you can travel in mortal form in the time you'd have. He could come to while you're still close enough to civilisation to be a danger, and then he will turn on you ." Onyxia scowled. "If either of you were to kill each other near the city it would be a disaster! He won't dare shift when there are so many mortals around, but he won't hesitate to turn on you while you're still in _your_ mortal form." She drummed her fingers on the table. "He's spent a lot of time with Sabellian. He would know how to fight in mortal form better than you can, and we are weaker this way. Once he killed you it would all be over, and he would have won. Is that what you want?"

"He can still tell Romathis about the mortal brat, he can still —"

"Omnarion has denied its existence, so have I, and you will lie for me," said Onyxia. "I shall have the child sent away." Somewhere Romathis couldn't get it. Somewhere Onyxia could still check on it. "It is time we returned to our old ways, the same old ways that Serinar followed by keeping you safe. The same old ways that are to thank for you being alive. It's what's best —"

"And who are _you_ to decide what is best?" spat Nalice.

Onyxia took a deep breath. "For ten thousand years we have been under the thrall of Old Gods. No more. By not following the old ways we allow them to win —"

"_What?_" Nalice snorted. And then _laughed in her face_. Onyxia's hackles rose. "Old Gods? You truly think we're weaklings who would allow ourselves to be controlled by beings that have not been seen for tens of thousands of years, if they existed at all? Are you _insane_?"

"Have you never heard their voices?"

"Voices?" Nalice stared at her, then laughed again. "Yes, you _are_ insane. And incompetent, _beyond_ incompetent. You have made mistake after mistake ever since you got here. And this is the worst."

"Go to Romathis," said Onyxia. "Tell him everything that has happened. And do _not_ tell him of the mortal child. And as for Orion…" She caught the look Nalice gave her, and said, "Do you wish to disobey?"

"No," said Nalice at last. "I shan't tell him of the mortal spawn. But it is the last time I will follow any of _your_ orders. Since you are useful here at stemming the tide of humans, he won't kill you. Yet. But Onyxia…" Nalice shook her head. "Listen to me. Even my father would tell you that by allowing Orion to live, you have made a dreadful mistake."

"Nalice…" Onyxia sat back, the heavy burden lifted from her shoulders at last. "You cannot kill him instantly or you will blow our cover. Kill him, yes, but…" She crossed her arms. "Have patience. You must wait, wait for him to fly away far enough, and _then_ kill him. Do you see?"

Nalice hissed. "Wasting precious hours? It could take a day! Longer if I'm unable to track him down!"

"It will be much worse if one of you are found dead too close to Stormwind," said Onyxia. "We have time. His plans are in ruins. Romathis will soon know the truth about Orion, and the child will be covered up. You have time to catch him. And Reginald Windsor is dead, so…" Onyxia resisted the urge to smile. "We are safe at last."

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Thanks for everyone's reviews! Input makes me very happy and helps me become a better writer. Concrit is appreciated as well. :)_

_What day of week do people prefer I update? I've noticed I tend to get reviews either straight after, or the Saturday (my Saturday) after I update. Are there any preferences for certain days of the week, certain times? Right now it's Sunday afternoons my time that I update, at which point everyone's asleep but I figure it's something for folks to wake up to anyway._

**_BlakDragun:_**_ )_

**_JustMe:_**_ I hope this answers all your questions!_

**_Zeitos:_**_ It was refreshing to write about them outside of Stormwind, I found. Poor Onyx has been cooped up for far too long!_

**_Tito:_**_ Buahaha._

**_Etincelle:_**_ I hope this Bolvar/Kat interaction satisfies! :) I'm being careful, I promise!_

**_Tarod007:_**_ Thank you! Indeed, they've been left hanging for a while._

**_Maraav:_**_ Whoops, thanks for picking that up, I'll fix it once this goes up! And from what I've seen of Wrathion he spooks me out a bit. He seems rather nasty himself, actually._


	39. The Last Impasse

_**A/N:** Thanks to **Coincidencless** for beta work! Next chapter up at the usual time._

_A couple of people have mentioned that it's odd that Bolvar doesn't "connect the dots" between the voices in his head talking about Sabel and Katrana mentioning her brother Sabel. **This is not a mistake.**_

_For one, Katrana told Bolvar many chapters ago she had a half-brother by her mother (a lie, obviously) called "Sabel", who died in the Second War. I know it's hard to keep track of because whoops this story turned into a monster-sized one._

_Bolvar, secondly, does not know that Sabellian the dragon exists, and even though he's dreamed of Sabellian, he thinks they're just dreams. In Vanilla WoW, where this story takes place, there was very little known about the Dragonflights - most of what we know now came much earlier than that. Bolvar himself says in a quest that the non-Black dragons are "said to exist", implying that there's very little knowledge of them past mythology, which probably means that even the night elves don't say much about the Greens. I'm probably actually giving mortal knowledge TOO much credit._

_Thirdly... Bolvar hears voices. He doesn't know that mind control magic that potent exists, and I've never written him as knowing it does. His first assumption would be mental illness - just because magic exists in Azeroth doesn't mean mental illness doesn't. There will always be people in Azeroth who hear voices that magic did not put there. He won't dare believe the voices for fear his sanity will wane even more - which he already thinks it's doing, because Onyxia is making it worse by using magic on him over and over again. As someone who is mentally ill and has had delusions, I can guarantee that they are the scariest shit your mind will ever do to you and nobody who recognises them for what they are would EVER want to believe them, especially if they're as scary enough to involve Old Gods and evil dragons. Nobody wants to live in fear. The only thing scarier than knowing you have delusions is NOT knowing you have them._

_Mind control magic doesn't exist in our universe, and if you have the ability to see your paranoia that someone's reading your mind for what it is, you're not going to believe it, are you? Bolvar doesn't think mind control magic that strong exists either, so why would he, a perfectly mentally healthy man, believe it either?_

_Okay, that's long enough. Story time!_

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

* * *

Sometimes she felt the twinge of a cramp in her abdomen.

"False contractions again," said Horan, when Bolvar fetched her in a panic. "I wouldn't worry about it. It just means it's not long until the baby comes!" She gave Katrana a bright smile. "And I'll make sure I'm ready for that, alright? I'll drop everything at a moment's notice."

"We should have Sam stay here." Bolvar clutched Kat's hand. "So that if it happens while I'm away..."

"As you wish." Kat squeezed back. If anything, the human was more nervous than _she_ was.

Nalice had departed hours ago to trail Orion. Kat prayed. The worst thing that could happen was for Orion to realise he'd been followed and kill Nalice in full view of mortals everywhere. It would be nothing short of a disaster. But Nalice was a good flyer. As the consort of a Shrinekeeper, she took the long cross-continental journeys for granted where most dragons felt exhausted at the mere thought. If she had to, she could fly for weeks. Orion could fly, but he couldn't hide…

Sam took up residence in their quarters during the day, often gazing out of the window. Kat told her stories. She told her about Sabellian and how he'd learned to be a shaman thanks to the legendary Vrykul. She told her about Serinar who'd guarded the Obsidian Shrine for thousands of years and watched many dragons lay themselves to rest there. She told her about Nyxondra, a dragon who dealt with the Dark Iron dwarves in the Badlands. "Her mating time comes up the same years Nalice's does. She did tell you of how it works on a twenty year cycle, did she not? Yes, well, we'll have a few hundred more whelplings in four or five years thanks to them, let's see how many survive."

And when Sam relaxed, she spoke about Mandy. Spoke about a rogue named Clarisse, who'd been all over the Eastern Kingdoms and had even participated in a failed raid on the Undercity and survived. Spoke about her mother, a woman who'd died when she was five…

That was before Nalice came back.

"You are not supposed to enter by that door, and _please_ don't slam it," said Katrana, looking up from the paperwork she'd gotten stuck into against Bolvar's wishes. She opened her mouth to continue chastising her niece, but her words died in her throat.

In front of her stood Baron Sablemane. His dark hair hung over his narrowed eyes, smeared with blood. His knuckles gripped the doorway. His robes were stained with red.

Onyxia's mouth hung open. "Sabel?"

"No," rasped that deep, familiar voice she'd missed so much, before the form shimmered in front of Onyxia's eyes. Nalice struggled to speak. "Fordragon knows my favourite form, I could not risk coming in that guise, just in case they arrived before I did…"

Nalice's eyes were narrowed to near slits, her mouth curled in a feral snarl, her fingers tinted purple as she fought the urge for her draconic form to overwhelm her.

And she was covered in blood. Wounds gaped all over her form, wounds too big to have been inflicted while in mortal form. "Idiot!" Onyxia recovered herself. "You're going to bleed to death and I bet you left a trail of blood _right_ to my door, too!"

"It was a risk I had to take." Nalice looked pale, but her aura of menace did not fade. "We have a traitor."

Katrana felt the blood drain from her face. "What?"

Sam appeared in the doorway behind Nalice. "What's— _yipe_!"

Nalice gripped the human by the front of her shirt and threw her. Katrana's hand rose to cover her mouth.

Sam connected with the wall and fell to a heap. Katrana stood as Nalice dug her nails into the mortal's shoulder, deep enough Sam cried out and blood stained her shirt.

"What did she do?" said Katrana, her heart in her mouth.

"She lied," said Nalice. Her fist tightened, and Sam choked. "She told us Reginald Windsor was dead. He _isn't_."

"That's all I did!" Sam clutched Nalice's wrist. "I couldn't just _kill_ — ow! He was gonna die anyway!"

"Rule number one," said Nalice. "Never, _ever_ assume someone will die. They will _always_ prove you wrong, and they _will_ come back to haunt you. What else have you done, little human? How else have you betrayed us?"

"Nothing, nothing!" said Sam. "Go ahead and kill me if you want, you'll only get the both of you in trouble when the Highlord comes in and sees blood on the walls! Light knows there's enough of it already!"

"I can make you disappear." Nalice's eyes flashed, but Onyxia saw them unfocus.

"Nalice, let her go," said Katrana. "Tell me what has happened. What did you find out? Sam, fetch the first aid box under the sink _now_, I'm amazed she made it here without fainting in the streets!"

"I had to take a shortcut through the mountains," Nalice relinquished the human. Instead of standing up, Nalice leaned against the wall. Her hand shook. "Climbed down, went through the gardens… Couldn't risk dying in the…" She snarled, but allowed Katrana to press a handkerchief to a nasty wound on her head. "We should have not let Orion go."

"We couldn't have him shifting in the streets! Didn't you catch him?"

"Not until it was too late." Nalice's eyes turned foggy.

The purple tint of her skin sent a bolt of panic through Onyxia. She couldn't die, not _here!_ If she died in here — "Sam, the box, _now_!"

Sam staggered in, blood covering her own clothes. She pulled a vial of greenish blue liquid from the box she held, and Onyxia grabbed it and put it to Nalice's lips. "Troll's blood potion," said Onyxia. "It will help you. Nalice, you can't shift back, not like _this_, you shouldn't have shifted into mortal form at all!"

"Why?" said Sam.

"Wounds gained in dragon form don't shrink when we shift into mortal form," said Onyxia through gritted teeth. "What would have been minor on a dragon could kill one if they shift. Like _now_. Nalice, you _moron_!"

"I had to warn you." Nalice's eyelids began to flutter. "Orion… he's a sprinter. I'm a long distance flyer. He can outfly me, even if I can catch up eventually, but in the meantime he did damage thanks to that little traitor…" Her eyes flicked up to Onyxia. "We should have found another way to deal with Orion. He is dead now, but…"

"Stop beating around the bush and tell me what happened!"

"Orion found the leader of the Brotherhood of Cinders in Blackrock," said Nalice. "He must have put him there months ago so that Windsor would have all the help he could get…"

"And Windsor's not dead," said Onyxia. "He…"

… Oh, _no_.

"He flew as fast as he could… he knew I'd catch up to him eventually," said Nalice. "He turned into mortal form, helped Withering… Onyxia, they let out Reginald Windsor. He's coming here. And he knows everything."

Onyxia's heart stuttered. She placed her hands over Nalice's worst wounds. Her voice was quieter than she intended as she said to Sam, "Run and grab the Bronze. _Now_. If anyone asks about the blood invent an excuse, just _go!_"

Sam bolted.

If only Sabel was here…

"Stupid human weakness." Nalice seemed less pale now as the troll's blood took effect. "Orion must have prepared everything. Sent Withering to the Steppes, so that when Orion pulled out his biggest weapon he was ready, there, waiting. Even if Windsor did not survive the journey back he would tell Withering _everything_."

"Why didn't you kill them?" said Onyxia. "Why head straight _here_?"

"Because I could not find them," said Nalice. "I only found Orion. Made him talk before I killed him..."

"You couldn't find them?" said Onyxia. "Didn't you track them?"

"I did." Nalice closed her eyes. "Their trail ended in the middle of the cavern. Smelt arcane. Mage portal. If we are fortunate, they are in Ironforge making a plan of attack. If we're not…"

… _Then they're in the city, right now, coming here._

But the troll's blood could only so much. Nalice's face was pale again, faint scales forming on her skin, and there was _so much blood_, and… "Stay awake!" Onyxia slapped her niece. "If you shift back we are _done for_."

But Nalice slumped.

Sam reappeared with Horan Bronzewing in tow. "_Now_, Bronze!" Onyx snapped, as Hora bent by Nalice's form. Hora plunged a syringe full of dark red liquid into Nalice's arm.

"Don't worry," said Hora. "She'll live. She won't transform. This is the _good_ stuff. _Real_ troll's blood. I cleaned up the blood in the hallway, by the way."

"What about _Windsor?_" said Onyx. "You knew about that, don't you?"

"I know about most things on this timeline." Hora used a knife to cut through Nalice's clothes. Her hands glowed gold over her wounds.

"What do we do?"

"Everything happens for a reason, Onyxia," said Hora. Sam hovered, wringing her hands. Onyxia was surprised she hadn't _run_. "I can assure you of that."

"It's _useless_!"

"I couldn't kill him," Sam started babbling, tears streaming. "I'm sorry, I couldn't kill him…"

Onyx stared at the slumped Nalice as Hora continued to work. "But what do we do? Do I tell Bolvar the truth before Windsor gets here? Or do I order the Suicide Squad to massacre everyone at the Brotherhood of Cinders guild hall? Even if I should speak the truth, Windsor will still tell him _everything_, even details I would leave out for the sake of peace!" Onyxia clenched her fists. "We should have had peace from the start. But I… I condemned them. I thought them all mindless beasts, even after being confronted by truth after truth, I turned a blind eye because…"

_Because the Old Gods knew my weaknesses and how to use them. They want chaos, they sow it, they live and breathe it._

"How could I ever hope to cover up the murders of the entire Brotherhood of Cinders?" said Onyx. "Doubtless they _all_ know the truth by now…"

"It's up to you, Onyxia." Nalice continued to sleep as the Bronze stood. "They won't make a move until the sun goes down because they want to warn Bolvar beforehand, when they think he's bound to be alone."

"Can't you go back in time and prevent all this?"

"I've done that so many times already." Hora picked up her bag.

"Tell me what I must do!"

"I can't hold your hand, Onyxia." Hora smirked without humour.

"The one time…" Onyxia stared at her. "The _one time_ you decide not to make my choices for me, it's when so many lives depend on making the right one?"

"But I already have," said Hora. "You've heard of that theory of time travel, right? That you might go back in time, squash a bug, and somehow prevent yourself from being born. That the smallest thing you do will change everything… sometimes the opposite happens." Hora closed her bag. "Sometimes you change a big event and it all ends up the same anyway. No matter what you choose tonight, Bolvar will find out. No matter what you choose tonight, you will still have committed crimes against Stormwind. No matter what you choose tonight, the same people will die. All you can change is how they die, all you can change is the part you play in it. But what I can tell you…" Hora tilted her head. "If you don't send the Sucide Squad into Old Town to murder the Brotherhood, you'll save three other lives, including the life of a child."

"How will that benefit me?" said Onyxia.

"It won't." Hora drew her cloak tighter around her. "But it'll benefit _them_. You're not the only person I'm saving, Onyx. But it'll be okay. The Brotherhood won't come until after the sun sets. You've got hope. Never let go of that."

The door clicked closed behind her.

"What do you want me to do, Broodmother?" Sam's eyes were still red. "I don't want the Black Dragonflight to die because of something I did. I don't want them to die at _all_. I didn't… I didn't think."

"Nalice will deal with you when she awakens," said Onyxia.

Those three lives… who were they? _Including the life of a child…_

The Hacketts, maybe? What did the Hacketts have to do with this?

_You're not the only person I'm saving, Onyx…_

It couldn't be Anduin, his death was too significant an outcome. Myth, perhaps? Myth, Kair and someone else?

… Or was it _their_ child? Was it her child that might die if she slaughtered the Brotherhood?

"Shall I fetch Captain Rivers?" said Sam.

"No," said Onyxia. "Help me put Nalice on the bed. I shall think about this." She looked up at Sam. "For now, you stay with me. I do not trust you not to snitch to them."

"Yes, Broodmother," Sam murmured.

-o-O-o-

If Windsor got here, it was all over. If Windsor arrived, it would all be _done_...

In Katrana Prestor's office, Onyxia sat in a chair behind her desk, staring into space. She felt a sharp pain in her side, but since her lower abdomen did not hurt she ignored it. If Windsor came…

She could not let that happen.

But why make war with the mortals? Perhaps if they knew how intelligent dragonkind were, they would be willing to make a truce, if nothing else. At least, until negotiations and reparations could be made…

She could tell the truth. Wait for Bolvar's reaction. If he did not react well she could simply erase it from his memory, and _then_ order an attack on the Brotherhood of Cinders.

She glanced to the staff that leaned against the wall. Once, it had held plenty of power, but now… it barely had enough to transport her across the Maelstrom. Even if she had to leave _now_ she'd have to use her own magic as well.

But she only had so much time.

Sam paced in the main room. Nalice had woken up fifteen minutes before and stormed out. The only thing preserving Sam's life was the fact Katrana Prestor needed her. "Sam, fetch Bolvar," said Katrana. "Immediately."

Sam stared at her. "But he's in an assembly!"

"Make up an emergency and _get him here_."

Sam didn't dare argue again. She hared off down the passage behind the book case.

Onyxia clenched her fists. Her blood roared in her ears. She swallowed.

It was time.

Bolvar appeared in minutes, his messy brown hair hanging over his eyes. "Sam found me — Kat, is everything alright? What's wrong? She said you needed me. Is it the child?" He took her hands.

Onyxia gazed down at them.

_How am I going to explain this?_ said Onyxia.

Bolvar's green eyes gazed at her. "Kat?"

"The child's fine," said Onyxia.

_But will it really?_ said Onyxia. _What if the Brotherhood of Cinders kill it?_

"I need to talk to you about something," said Onyxia.

"You look pale," said Bolvar. "What's wrong?"

Her side demanded her attention. She frowned, rubbing it, and glancing down at herself. The child could arrive any day now…

She stared.

Any _hour_ now.

_No matter what you choose tonight…_

Could the child's birth be the key?

_People will die…_

… But it didn't add up.

Or did it? Was the difference between them dying today and dying later because her child would grow up to kill them anyway?

"Are you alright there?" said Bolvar, reaching out to rub her side. _Odd, I have a bit of an ache there too._

_Complete coincidence_, Onyxia deadpanned in spite of herself.

"It hurts a bit," said Onyxia. "Well, somewhat."

"It does?" Bolvar perked. "My mother told me that when she was in labour with me she had pain there, didn't realise it was labour until the healer told her."

She sighed. "My waters have not broke, I doubt it, but — "

Bolvar frowned, pressing her side again, earning a glare from Onyxia. He rubbed in circles. "It doesn't always end up that way," said Bolvar. "Some women don't even know they're in labour until well into it. Stay here, I'll get Bronzewing, we can talk later."

And he disappeared. Onyxia sighed and sank into the chaise. It would be most inconvenient if the child came now, but then...

_No matter what you choose tonight…_

Hora returned quickly with Bolvar on her heels, frowning at Onyxia. "Pain in the side?" she said. "Contractions? Have you timed them?"

"I haven't felt any yet. Should I?"

"Yes, you should," said Horan. "Sister Sutton will be over soon with supplies. Yes, Highlord, she is trustworthy, I would rather have another hand here."

And by 'Sutton' she meant 'the other Hora', didn't she? "If there aren't any contractions it's somewhat early, surely?" Onyxia frowned.

Hora gave Onyxia a meaningful look. "Not for you it's not."

The Bronze insisted on helping Onyxia to the bedroom. "I can _walk_," Onyxia snapped, as 'Sutton' appeared and Bolvar hovered nearby, fretting.

His fretting only grew worse when Horan shooed him from the room. "What?" he said. "I can't be there?"

"I'd rather you were not in the way," said Horan. "Childbirth takes a long time. So pick up a book and be prepared to wait a while."

"If there is anything I can do — "

"I will have Sister Sutton do it. I shall keep you updated." Horan closed the door behind her and rummaged in the bag she'd brought.

Onyxia sank onto the bed and spoke into the silence. "You lied."

"I didn't." Hora's voice sounded unsteady, her back to Onyxia.

"You told me I had all afternoon," said Onyxia.

"No, I did not," said Sutton. "I said that Brotherhood of Cinders would not make their move until sundown. I simply withheld the truth."

"What else have you _withheld_?" said Onyxia. "You said it would all be alright… for whom?"

Only then did Onyxia see the tears in the high elf's eyes. Her heart almost went still.

"Hora?" she said. She gazed up at Sutton as she came closer to the bed, standing by Onyxia's side. "What is it? What is going to happen? Will you tell me, please?"

"I didn't lie, then," said Hora. The high elf stepped closer, holding a bottle and a shred of thick cloth. "It _will_ be alright."

"But for whom?" said Onyxia. Her heartbeat increased in panic. Her palms sweated.

Hora pulled off the stopper. "The child is going to be alright."

"And Nalice?" said Onyxia. Sutton leaned closer. "Sam? _Me_? My brood, my children, Romathis, _his_ children — what about them?" Hora didn't look at her. Neither did Sutton, staring at Hora. "What about _them_? If Windsor gets here they're all going to _die_!" If only Sabel were here… "I have to go as soon as this is done, I have to get out of here, I have to protect them as soon as the child is born." Her children would be alright, there was no possible way the humans would find out about the Brood in Dustwallow —

Hora's eyes were red, her face tear-streaked, as she pressed the rag to the top of the bottle and turned it upside down for a moment. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really, really am. But the sands of time don't grant favours. There's always a price that has to be paid, a sacrifice made for the greater good. Like little Amandine. Like you."

Sutton pinned down Onyxia's shoulders. Onyxia struggled, writhing from side to side as Hora's hand pressed the rag to Onyxia's mouth and nose. She gasped for air, sucking in a dreadful, chemical taste before the world went black.

-o-O-o-

Katrana Prestor stood alone in the Blasted Lands. The earth was red underneath her bare feet, and her stomach was flat as if the demon child had never been conceived. As she turned her head to look behind her she saw the Dark Portal, open and swirling with stars.

And on the other side, in the distance, a man in orange robes picked herbs in a field of shimmering green.

Onyxia picked up her skirts, and ran up the stone slope. On the other side of the portal her feet touched soft grass in a rolling, verdant paradise. She'd never been to Outland, but it had shattered, hadn't it? And yet, once upon a time, it had looked like this…

Only then did she see the bodies.

Orcs and humans lay scattered on the ground. Red stained green. Some were pinned to the ground by lances, their eyes rolled back in their head. Some drowned in their own blood. Others groaned, twisted into the fetal position. Onyxia stepped past blue and red cloth, twisted together, the symbols of the Alliance and Horde stained with fluid.

Baron Sablemane picked a plant and put it in his bag, before he knelt by an orc. The orc wheezed, his chest caved in and grotesque, shifting in all the wrong places as air struggled in and out. "You will recover," said Sabel. Out of nowhere, a vial appeared in his dark fingers. The orc drank it all, coughing and gagging as he did so. Sabel helped him sit, before the orc yanked out the arrows without flinching.

The orc smiled, and climbed to his feet. Only then did Onyxia notice that some of the other wounded had since recovered, standing in clusters, smiling and talking. A pair of humans opened their arms out to the orc. The orc grinned and joined them, his thick green arms draped over their shoulders as they walked off, laughing together.

"If only we all got along so well." Sabel rose.

Onyxia stepped closer and clung to him.

"You are troubled," said his deep voice in her ear. "I have not seen you this weak since you killed the one who forced you to be his mate."

"I wish you were alive," said Onyxia. "I need your assistance. Hora has berayed me. What if I'm asleep when Windsor comes? What if they kill my child? Hora's already let one die." She tightened her grip on her brother. "If you are alive, out there, please come home."

"You know it is not for me to decide." His arms closed around her, and she smelt the familiar scent of scorched earth. "My dear sister, I cannot help you. You can only help yourself. In the end, that's all you can do."

"I can't do this." Onyxia turned her face up to him. He frowned down at her. "Will I see you when I die?"

"Are you really giving up, Onyx?"

She paused. She drew in a deep breath. "No, I cannot. I have not given up until now, I mustn't. Not because a… but Sabel, a _Bronze_ said I would die! They have power over me that I cannot change."

"And you believe it?"

She stepped back, suddenly ashamed of her weakness, of her affection. Sabel let her go, and she thought she saw a tiny smile on his face. "I have to fight," she said. "I must. I cannot allow Blackrock to fall."

"A true leader serves her people, not herself, Onyx." His warm hand touched her jaw, forcing her eyes to meet his before he lowered his hand. "Who do you serve? They need you. They need you to do what is right for them, to be strong where they are weak. And they are weak."

"Strength and weakness… that is what this always comes down to," said Onyxia. "There's this Old God corruption, I…" She pushed her shoulder back. "I _cannot_ die. If I die, who will fight it? Nalice? She did not believe me. Sam? She's a mortal. My child? It won't even experience life linearly, how could _it_ do anything? _I_ have to fight the Old God. I have to save us… I'm the only one who _can_. My bond with Bolvar Fordragon separated me from it, allowed me to see it for what it was. But if you were here, you could help me." Onyxia sighed. "But if I protect Romathis, Bolvar will die. The only way Blackrock will survive this war is if they annihilate the enemy… or make peace. We need their help. The mortals could do it. The Brotherhood of Cinders are strong, but… would they listen to me? What can I do?"

"Serve your people," said Sabel. "Sacrifices must be made."

Onyxia laughed bitterly. "They always say that. If only you were alive, you could have prevented this years ago…" She sighed. "Is this really you, Sabel? Are you my brother's spirit? I need his wisdom more than ever right now."

"Why do you mourn me?" His deep voice sounded puzzled, but gentle. "The Titans purge the weak so that the Flight may grow strong."

"But that's what the Old God wanted us to think, wasn't it?" said Onyxia. "No, Sabel. Our kind are greatly weakened by your loss. We need you more than we ever thought we would. If you were here… even if I died, you could be the one to save us. I'm sorry I did not come for your bones."

Sabel smiled. Onyxia clenched her fists and lifted her chin.

She had a battle to fight, and a war to win. For her children. For the brother who'd died. For the Black Dragonflight.

_She would not let them fall._

-o-O-o-

When Onyxia came to, she barely knew she was awake. Cotton filled her head, her abdomen tingled with the aftereffects of Holy Light, and everything shrieked and grated in her ears. Smells assaulted her, sounds crashed and banged inside her head and it hurt to open her eyes.

"Thank gods you're awake," said a voice, which exploded in her ears. _Quieter, quieter, shut up!_ "Are you alright, Kat? It's all cleaned up, he healed you, you're going to be alright, I promise…"

Onyxia's first words — _I am going to kill that miserable Bronze twit!_ — died in her throat as she made out Bolvar sitting on a chair beside the bed. His expression creased in worry. He held blankets in his arms.

"How long have I...?" She struggled to sit.

"Shh," he said. "Rest. You've been out all afternoon, you need to sleep. Bronzewing and Sutton left a few minutes ago after bringing you out of sleep... I wasn't happy with it, but they said to call for them if they were needed." He frowned. Then his smile reappeared. "I'll help you sit up. Look." Then his smile broke into the stupidest grin Onyxia had ever seen. "We have a little girl."

He helped her stack the pillows behind her and let her lean against them as he presented her with the little one. Already the baby had a head of dark hair, and when it opened its eyes, they were Bolvar's green.

"Girl," Onyxia murmured numbly. She struggled to focus on Bolvar's voice, louder than she recalled it ever being before. Outside their quarters she heard footsteps grow louder and fade away. She heard a cacophony of bird calls. She could smell Samantha's scent, but she couldn't hear her… "What happened?"

"Bronzewing said you were in terrible pain," said Bolvar. "That something had gone wrong and they'd have to cut the child out or you'd die. He only had a few potions at his disposal but he said your memory might be fuzzy, that you'll probably be too tired to do much for a few days…" He tutted, shaking his head. It was odd, how detailed his skin looked now. She could see every pore, every hair on his chin, and everything was so much _redder_ again... "He shouldn't have woken you up, I don't know why he couldn't just let you sleep all night. But he's the healer, I suppose, and Sutton supported him…"

Onyxia looked down at the mortal child in front of her. Such a frail, odd creature. Where was the rush of warmth and love human mothers were supposed to experience? What was she supposed to _do_ with it? It was mortal. It was an infant. Was it even _hers_? It held the blood of some mortal woman that had died long ago, not Onyxia's. It was more Bolvar's child than Hora's, too. "A girl."

"Little Sabelia." Bolvar moved to sit on the bed beside her, to allow her to slump against him. "Sam's nicknamed her 'Saya' already."

"Saya..." She was so _tired_. There was no way she could fly to Blackrock in this condition. She wouldn't make it a few miles before she dropped out of the sky in exhaustion. She felt so heavy and groggy from _whatever_ Hora did to her...

And that poor mortal child.

They both had to die. Sabelia — _Saya_ — to prevent civil war. Bolvar so she could have ultimate power over Stormwind. She could do it, too. With her Draconic strength back she could reach over and snap his neck like a rabbit's. A mortal baby could die when dropped. But...

... She couldn't bring herself to do it.

Her eyes fluttered closed. She couldn't be angry at Sam, who had failed to kill a man. Onyxia, the almighty Black dragon, couldn't bring herself to do it either. How could she kill her mate and daughter?

"Are other people like you?" said Onyxia. She held her daughter closer. Saya snuggled in, deep asleep. Onyxia smiled.

Bolvar blinked. "What do you mean?"

"So complex," said Onyxia. "So much deeper than one can imagine."

"Everyone is." Bolvar smiled. "Everyone has a mask they present to the world, everyone has more facets than they will ever show, secrets they'll never tell. We should do our best to understand them. We always want to be accepted, but rarely do we ever accept others as they are."

But would he accept _her_, if he knew the truth? Would he still want to understand her?

"Like you understood me," Onyxia murmured. "You saw something in me nobody else ever did." _Lies. Every single one of them lies. You don't know the truth._ "I love you, Bolvar. You have treated me with more kindness than I deserve."

She felt a kiss pressed against her head. "I love you too, Kat," he murmured. "You've made me happy, in that quirky way of yours."

He wasn't the one she should be afraid of. In the end, mortals weren't their enemies. She had worked to sabotage their kingdom all for nothing, a war that could have been prevented if only she had seen the truth earlier. Sabel would have known that.

He kissed her hair again. "Wait here. I have something for you."

He helped her lean against the pillows, Sabelia still in her arms. She heard him rummage in a small drawer as she looked down at the child in her arms.

Sabelia. Saya. Named for the uncle who loved mortals. Onyxia prayed that Saya would be the same. The infant had fallen asleep in her arms. She was tinier than Amandine had been.

"It will be alright, little one," she murmured in Draconic so low that no human should hear. But perhaps a human infant would. Human children heard things better than adults. "It will be. I shall protect you. I promise."

"Here," said Bolvar, sitting on the bed again. She felt a cool metal on her throat, felt Bolvar's fingers fumble behind her neck before the necklace fell into place. She blinked down on it, twinkling silver, with a few pink gems. "It was my mother's. My father gave it to her for their wedding. I found it in the ruins of our house, in her bedside table. I want you to have it."

Onyxia's fingers touched the fine links.

As if she didn't feel guilty enough.

But all she could say, emotion choking her voice, was, "Thank you, Bolvar. For everything."

He touched her cheek again, and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "You should sleep," he said. "You've got all night. Shh…"

Night… there was something she had to remember, wasn't there? Something about night…

At that moment, the door opened, and Nalice stared at them. She sighed theatrically. "Highlord," she said. "I require a private word with my aunt. Urgently."

She expected Bolvar's annoyance in her head, but she heard nothing. Only then did she realise that the drugs Hora had made her inhale had muffled his voice in her head. She could still sense his life force, but his mind was closed to her.

Only then did Onyxia notice the curtains covering the windows. Only then did Onyxia notice the torches lit on the wall.

_Windsor!_

Adrenaline jolted her. "What time is it?"

"Seven thirty," said Nalice. "Highlord, _now!_"

When Onyxia felt Bolvar's anger, she touched his arm. "Just let her have what she wants, I'm too tired to argue… please, Bolvar."

"Fine." Bolvar gave Nalice a disgusted glare, then pressed another kiss to her cheek.

"There are… people in your office, too, Highlord," said Nalice. A lie. _Nobody_ ever disturbed the Highlord after dark unless there was an emergency. "They wish to speak with you immediately."

"But everyone's at dinner." Bolvar rose. "Odd. But fine. Will you be alright, Kat?"

"I shall be fine." She _hoped_. She cradled the child close to her. Saya stirred for a moment before sleep captured the newborn once more.

When Bolvar was gone, Nalice said, "That _thing_ is an abomination. Unfortunately, I have worse news. They're not in Old Town, but I _did_ pick up the scent of the gnome that teleported them in Ironforge. They retreated there to make plans."

For a brief moment, Onyxia's hope ran high. "Did you get him?"

And it all came crashing down as Nalice shook her head. "By the time I found the house they'd been in, they were gone. Another mage had transported them. Probably directly into the Mage Quarter. The tram is faster, given how long it takes to walk from the Mage Quarter, but they must have guessed I would check Ironforge. Nobody would hear them scream if I caught them in the tram… There is no way I can get them now, not without so many people seeing… they must be in the city now. All of them."

Onyxia leaned back against her pillows. Sabelia slept on in her arms. She felt numb.

"If we fight the humans, we will lose," said Nalice. "Romathis is not prepared to fight them and I don't have time to warn him, it's a miracle I got _here_ before them! If the armies of mortals invade him Blackrock _will_ fall." Nalice shook her head. "We must leave Stormwind Keep, and prepare to defend Blackrock at all costs. This mission is over, you have failed."

"But we will lose, as you say." Onyxia sighed. "We will have to evacuate Blackrock."

"_What_?" Nalice's nostrils flared. "Flee, like cowards?"

"Like cowards that will live to fight another day!" said Onyxia. "They can transform into humans, smuggle themselves across the seas. The Wyrmbog has not nearly enough room but it will be safe — "

"You _are_ a coward — "

"Dying for the sake of not being one is pointless and foolish," Onyxia snarled. "How does it serve the Flight, Nalice?"

"We will die as heroes!"

"And who will remember us as such? How is it heroic to leave the shattered remnants vulnerable?" said Onyxia. "To let _Orion_ win? If Blackrock falls, the Flight may as well die out entirely. If Blackrock falls, that is half the Flight dead!"

"The weak should die as they deserve," said Nalice. "If we are weak, we must pay the consequences."

"And I suppose you still think mortals are weak?"

Nalice's eyes narrowed. "Of course they are!"

"So why are there more of _them_?" said Onyxia. "Why is it if we, the oh-so-strong Black Flight, would lose if we fought them?"

"They outnumber us — "

"And that would be because they are stronger than we are," said Onyxia. "If we are so strong, why are _we_ dying out? Why do _we_ threaten to destroy ourselves? If we fight this battle, we will not win. Our war is not with mortals. We should come to an understanding with them."

"Have you lost your _mind?_" Never before had Onyxia seen her niece's jaw drop.

"Give me a single problem with the mortals that peace would not solve, Nalice." Onyxia lifted her chin. "You are an ambassador. You should know."

"Two words, Onyxia: Varian Wrynn. Orion knew all about that, and it would be stupid not to assume Windsor does too."

Onyxia slumped against the pillows. "I will bear full responsibility for that, and allow the humans to do with me what they want as long as they promise to spare — "

"And do you think they would?" said Nalice. "They have been _itching_ to fight the dragons for some time. They will stab you in the back, just as Samantha Inkweaver did — "

"Samantha suffered a loss of resolve — "

"And here you are, making excuses for her!" Nalice stood up straight, snarling. "You are weak, Onyxia! You should have killed Varian Wrynn whilst you had the chance. Even if the humans were stupid enough to take you and not turn on us, the moment Varian Wrynn returns from wherever you have sent him, _he_ will declare war on us, and _we_ will lose! And do not think we can keep this from them. They will find out one day."

The humans would kill them.

And they would have every right to.

"What do you suggest we do, then?" Onyxia could barely focus through her clouded head. Her arm shook from the effort to hold it up as she rubbed her forehead. What the hell had Hora drugged her with? It hadn't smelt like any concoction Onyxia was familiar with.

"Throw them all in prison," said Nalice. "Use the amulet, control Fordragon so he does not protest. Clean this mess up. You have the Suicide Squad on guard in the throne room as we speak, to which Reginald Windsor is advancing. When he comes in, have him arrested for treason, have them _all_ arrested for treason, and hush it up. The nobles are all dining, nobody will see a thing. If Fordragon breaks free of the amulet, you will have to kill him too. And then you will be Regent Lady, Stormwind will be under your control, and this will _all_ be averted. And it can only get better — you can dismantle what's left of Stormwind's defences, you can isolate it from its allies, and then we can take it as we planned to all along!"

Onyxia closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. "Then that is what we will do."

_I'm sorry, Bolvar._

"He is coming," said Nalice.

"Then we will meet him." Onyxia held out the child. Disgusted, Nalice took her. "Don't harm the child."

"Aren't you going to killit?" said Nalice.

"We can use her to manipulate Fordragon if worst comes to worst," Onyxia lied. "She's no good to us dead. I will dress, and we will go out and meet Windsor. But first... where is Hora?"

"The Bronze?" said Nalice. "She is gone. I searched for her as soon as I returned. The alias of Bronzewing has resigned and disappeared. The only Sutton around is the human one."

Both dragons gazed at each other for a long moment.

"Alright," said Onyxia. "Then let us face him."

* * *

**_A/N:_**_Letting people know ahead of time that in a few chapters, I'll be updating fortnightly instead of weekly. It'll only last four or five chapters, then it's back to weekly updates, I'm making time for a couple of other priorities._

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed!_

**_Anonymous:_**_ Some events will directly contradict lore in a way that alternate timelines can't explain, which is why I wanted to point it out. :) _

**_Kai:_**_ Ony just wants to be hugged? You first! I'm gonna... stand back here. Yeah, here. With the fire extinguisher. I got your back!_

**_Zeitlos:_**_ I know the feeling. I would give my left arm for Frostblood, my favourite fanfic, to be canon. The author writes Kel'thuzad better than Blizzard ever could. And yeah, my first introduction to Onyxia was dying as a level twelve in the throne room. Ahh, the good ol' days._

_I've also thought about what would happen to this fanfic if something happened to me. Crap. Right now my plan is "Hope to god I survive whatever it is and write on an iPad in the hospital!"_

**_Watermist:_**_ And it won't be long, either..._

**_KyreanNightblood:_**_ Thank you! (Contradicting lore - er, cough, I mean alternate universes are fun! Don't tell anyone I said that!)_


	40. The Reckoning

_**A/N:** Once again, thank you to **Coincidencless** for her beta work on TOD, without whom I would make many stupid and embarrassing mistakes._

**_Next chapter will come next Sunday, AEST, and after that updates will be fortnightly for a few chapters, every second Sunday. There will be no anon replies until updates are weekly again._**

_And on the subject of replies - I was getting a sense of deja vu when I went to reply to signed reviews for the last chapter; I'm not sure if I'd already replied to them or not, so to save embarrassment I didn't reply. I'm really sorry if I'm wrong and I didn't reply to signed reviews after all! I'm not even sure if people like replies, either, but I don't want to neglect thanking people for taking the time to comment on the story._

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

* * *

"_You pay me back in time and reap just what you sow." _

_- Adele, Rolling in the Deep_

* * *

After wasting away in a cell for twelve months and fighting his way out of Blackrock Depths until they could get to the Gnomish mage, Reginald Windsor wouldn't let a silly little thing like severe infection stop him from walking from one end of the city to the other. Sometimes he staggered, sometimes he spluttered and gagged, but whenever someone offered to help him he grit his jaw, lifted his chin and ignored them, fighting the pain, his exhaustion and malnutrition for all he was worth.

Their priest had done all he could. "You need to _rest!_" the priest had said. "Do you have any idea how much damage you're doing to yourself? We'll be lucky if you survive this! We should've gone straight to the guild hall and healed you first."

"There's no time," Reggie wheezed.

"We have to stop and get reinforcements," said Leo. "The rest of the guild's in the hall. We need everyone we can get." He nodded to the priest. "You can tend to him there."

"_They_ may be waiting," said Reggie. "The dragonspawn."

"They can't know."

"Face it, Leo, you might open the doors and…" Reggie stumbled again. Leo hauled him to his feet. "… Might find some bodies. Paranoia pays. And if you're going to treat me, use something that acts fast, or you may as well pour it down the sink," said Reggie. "Not going to live long."

"You'll be fine," said Leo. "You will be."

If Onyxia knew, she hadn't sent anyone to the guild hall, because he found Lana Stoutwell there in a salute with a grinning Clarisse beside her. "Ready for your orders, sir!" said the hunter.

"Good," said Leo. "We're hunting dragons in Stormwind Keep, tell everyone who's still here to get prepared for battle immediately. You've got five minutes to get ready, _go_." As Lana dashed off, Leo glanced at the blonde woman beside her. "The hell are you here for, Clarisse?"

"I'm one of yours now!" said Clarisse. "Oh, did you know you have a long lost sister?"

"Sam? Yeah, I know — "

"She's working for Prestor," said Clarisse.

"What?"

"Yeah," said Reginald, and sat on a chair as the dwarven priest fussed over him. "She was supposed to kill me. But she didn't. Sweet girl, I told her to run and go do something else with her life rather than spend it obeying dragons..."

"I don't have time for this," said Leo. "Where's Tarani? We need to warn Bolvar!"

"I gave him one of the communication crystals, sir." Tarani appeared in the doorway.

"Good, give one to me."

"In my desk, sir — "

"I don't have _time_!" Leo rushed to the desk and yanked out the drawers, ignoring Tarani's shriek of dismay as he rummaged through the contents that fell to the ground. He pulled out a blue crystal and squeezed it. "Bolvar, come on. You better keep this on you, come on, come on, come _on_, come on..."

The crystal tinkled in thought. Leo paced the room, clenching his jaw. "Damn it, Bolvar!"

"If he doesn't answer in two minutes we have to go anyway," said Reginald.

"You are in _no_ condition — " said the priest.

"Maybe you'll get lucky and Prestor will pick it up," said Clarisse.

"That'd be just my luck," said Leo. "_Damn it, Bolvar!_"

The tinkling stopped and the crystal glowed purple. "_What?_"

Leo stared at it. "Holy shit, about time! Are you alone?"

"_Leo?_" said the crystal. Leo grinned so hard his face ached. "_Damn it, Leo, what the hell is going on? What's this about you trying to kill Katrana? Did you speak to Nalice? She told me there was someone waiting, I didn't think it'd be you!_"

"Did I speak to who?" said Leo. Then, "Never mind. Are you alone?"

"_Yes, damn it, what is it?_"

"Bolvar, it's important, there's a Black dragon in Stormwind."

"Three," Lana appeared, gun strapped to her back. "There's another in the infirmary and there's a third skulking around, likes to beat up Inkweaver. And they're proper _dragons_, too, more powerful than the spawn."

The crystal made a loud, thumping noise. Leo heard scrabbling on the other side, and then a distant, "_What?_"

"_Three?_" said Reggie. "How will we take down _three?_"

"It's Onyxia," said Leo. "She's — "

"_Reggie?_" said the crystal. "_Is that — _" Pause. "_Wait. Onyxia? What about Onyxia? Is she on the move?_"

"She's right under your nose, Bolvar," said Leo.

"She's had him under her control for far too long," snarled Reginald.

No response.

"Bolvar?" said Leo. "Are you there?"

"_Shut up, she can hear you!_"

"I thought you were alone!"

"_I can't believe it, I thought I was insane, just hearing voices — that was the real Onxyia? Son of a — shut up, shut up, I — no. Shh._"

"I think he's lost it," stage-whispered Clarisse.

"_No._" When the crystal spoke again, Bolvar's voice was quieter. "_Now I know what to look for... she can't hear us. I think... no, she can't hear us. There's something blocking her, don't ask me how I know, I just do... I can't believe _Kat_... dragons can't have children! It has to be Nalice, her behaviour fits, she's exactly what Katrana acted like before… which means I… oh, gods._"

Lana strode in, and Leo looked up at her. "Is everyone ready?"

"All ready, sir."

"Reginald can't go," said the dwarven priest. "He's too sick — "

Reginald struggled to his feet, still clutching his precious tablets. "No. I have to come."

"We can take care of this on our own, my friend," said Leo.

Reginald shook his head. "I'm the only one who can read the tablets. Also, Leo, they won't reveal dragonspawn, only dragons..."

"The entire Suicide Squad is composed of dragonspawn," said Lana. "And they'll be there. It's war."

"_Leo_," said the crystal. "_What do you need me to do?_"

"Make sure Anduin's safe," said Leo. "And come to the throne room. Make sure there aren't any innocents present. Keep the Suicide Squad where we can get them all at once, make sure they're _all_ present. We'll be there in fifteen minutes tops. Bring your sword. It's going to be bad."

No response.

"... Bolvar? Are you -"

"_Gods_," said the crystal. "_I left Saya with them._"

-o-O-o-

It couldn't be, it couldn't be, it _couldn't_ be! They had to be mistaken, it couldn't be Kat, he must have misheard the voices or Onyxia had planted them there to make him suspect her, Kat had just _given birth_ for crying out loud — Nalice he'd believe, but not _Kat_. Nalice had to have Kat under mind control, if nothing else. There was no way Katrana Prestor, his sweet Kat, could be a dragon. _Impossible_. How could a dragon possibly give birth to a human? He'd known Kat since she was seven years old, for Light's sake! He'd known her _father_!

And every second he spend sprinting through the passage between their quarters, he thanked the Light that Onyxia couldn't seem to hear him. His mind was completely silent for once, rather than filled with indecipherable buzzing.

But behind it all he felt a rhythm, like a drum. A heartbeat. Her life force. It felt dim and far away, but present...

He'd never dared believe it was _real_. Such magic had to be impossible!

He burst into the room, ignoring the books that spilled from the shelf. He dashed into the bedroom —

Katrana's bed was empty. Nalice was gone. There was no baby in the crib.

_Shit!_

He stormed from Katrana's apartment and down the hallway. Where was Sam, where was Sam, where was —

He banged on the door until Sam finally answered, eyes red. In the background he saw a steaming mug and a pile of books. "Sam," he gasped. "Where's Nalice?"

Sam blinked at him. "I... Nalice? I don't know. She's not here."

"Where is Katrana?"

"I don't — "

Gods, what was Katrana doing out and about? Did Nalice know that the Brotherhood of Cinders approached? Wherever Nalice was, he'd find Katrana and Saya, he knew it. "Where might Nalice be?"

"I don't..." Sam frowned. "Training rooms?" No, they wouldn't take a baby there. Would they? Were they even in the _city_? "Library, maybe? She likes to study ancient languages with me— uh, Bolvar?"

"What's this?" Bolvar shoved past her as he caught sight of the lettering on the spines of books on her table. He picked up a few books. Some parchment fluttered loose, inscribed with runes that he didn't recognise, yet felt familiar. _The Children of Deathwing, The Anatomy of Dragons, The Ancient Wyrmcults, Tracking Deathwing_. He scowled and dumped them back on the table, ready to tear off back down the hallway —

The last book flipped open. An illustration caught his eye.

On the page lay a drawing of a sleeping dragon. Cruel horns curved into the air. Claws curled into the ground. Deep purple inked her scales.

_How many times had he dreamed of her?_

Bolvar's eyes followed the text underneath the illustration.

_... found Onyxia, but not Deathwing yet, in spite of following the trail for months all I seem to run into are his children. She roosted on a clifftop beside another dragon, whom I've encountered before and spoken to personally, and claims to be a friend of mortals unlike the rest of his kin. His name is Sabellian and though he was awake, he did not disturb his sister and allowed me to draw them both. The high elves say that —_

The text cut off at the bottom of the page.

_Sabellian_.

"Sabel," he murmured. "Katrana's brother..." He flicked to the beginning of the book to find the date of completion. "Disappeared in the Second War?" Didn't the Black Dragonflight cross the Dark Portal?

But the book was fifty years old.

"Bolvar?" said Sam in a quiet squeak. "I..."

Sabellian. _Sabelia. Named after a monster._

_I have to find her!_

Bolvar turned on his heel and ran.

-o-O-o-

The Brotherhood would be here any minute now.

Onyxia searched for Bolvar in her mind, but the magic faltered. The fog of whatever drug Hora had used on her continued to cloud her mind, clinging to her mental senses and blocking him. Or perhaps she simply felt too exhausted by her chemical fatigue that she could not sense him. She felt a vague sense of panic… but was that him, or her own detached emotions?

In the throne room she stood straight, ignoring how her body longed to sink to the floor and curl up to sleep. _Stay back_, she'd told Nalice. _There won't be room for both of us if worst comes to worst and we both have to transform…_

Her eyes felt dry. Her grip on her staff tightened. A fresh spike of pain shot through her skull with each beat of her heart.

She gazed down the empty hallway. The Suicide Squad stood ready. Adam Rivers lifted his chin and stared into determined space, scowling.

_He knows he may fulfill his purpose today…_

She barely noted the running footsteps until they arrived at her side, with a fresh smell of fear and the sound of Bolvar's ragged breath. "_There_ you are!" he said as she blinked at him. "Where's Saya? You should be asleep!"

"She's with Nalice." It took all her effort to focus on Bolvar's words. _Why is he afraid?_

"Where's Nalice?"

"Back in our — in my quarters." A small part of Onyxia wondered why he wasn't upset that she was out and about earlier than intended.

He looked away, clenching a fist. "She wasn't there when I checked. _Where is she?_"

Onyxia blinked at him. "If she is not there, then I do not know," she lied. There were so many entrances to the throne room, he wouldn't have walked past her.

"Lady Prestor!" said a fresh voice. "I didn't expect you out, do you feel alright?"

Onyxia turned a sleepy smile on Anduin. Jettion fluttered at his shoulder. "Quite tired, Your Highness. How does the evening find you?"

"Anduin, you shouldn't be here," said Bolvar.

Onyxia frowned.

Anduin blinked at them. "Why not?"

"Do you not have studies to attend to, Your Highness?" said Onyxia.

"Yeah, but…" Anduin frowned. "Are you alright, Uncle Bolvar?"

"Your whelp looks tired," said Onyxia. _Take him to safety._

"Anduin," said Bolvar.

Something in his tone caught Onyxia's attention. She frowned at him. He looked away, eyes intent on Anduin. She smelt…

Fear. Determination. Anger. Every line of his body was sculpted into a fighter's position from the way his hand hovered ready at his waist to his stiff shoulders and tight muscles. He expected a conflict, and he wouldn't expect a conflict unless…

He couldn't… could he?

"Yes, Anduin," said Onyxia. "Why don't you leave the Highlord and I alone?"

Then Bolvar stiffened, his eyes darting around at the assembled Suicide Squad, then back to the only other human in the room —

_He knows._ And the way he looked at the dragonspawn, too… he knew that if Anduin left, she could strike. How could he possibly know?

She reached out with her magic to penetrate Bolvar's mind, but her clumsy attempts yielded nothing. She had no enchantments to protect her now. She was on her own.

Then she heard them. Footsteps, in the distance, so many of them, out at the canals. She took her weight from her staff and stood up straight, defying her aching body, lifting her chin with only her pale skin to betray her state of health. Another jolt of fear sharpened her mind.

There.

The Brotherhood of Cinders marched up the stone slope of the hall like a horde of executioners, and at their head walked Leonardo Withering and Reginald Windsor. Windsor's cold eyes met her own. His lips rose in a snarl as he quickened his pace. As a gust of wind blowed past him she smelled sickness and lung fluid. Pneumonia, then. Severe pneumonia. An ordinary man would have long collapsed by now, but Reginald Windsor was a disciplined soldier, one on the mission of a lifetime.

As he rose further and Anduin's blonde head came into his line of sight, his eyes widened. He broke into a run, his long legs bearing him across the distance to the top faster than any sick, malnourished man should. "Majesty!" The stone walls amplified his voice. "Run while you still can, _she is not what you think her to be!"_

Onyxia's fingers brushed against Anduin's shoulder.

Bolvar touched his sword. "To the safe hall, Your Majesty."

Without argument Anduin tore away from them and bolted down a nearby hallway.

The Brotherhood of Cinders spilled into the throne room. By the _Titans_, how many were there? Two dozen, three dozen, perhaps even _more_ than that, all with weapons drawn, all wearing the black and red tabard. A sickly-looking gnome stood in the crowd, his face beaded with perspiration, beside a tall human mage. A night elven huntress clutched her bow. A blonde rogue grinned with daggers in her hands.

As Jettion fluttered after the prince, Withering bellowed, "Get that whelp!"

A dwarven hunter raised her gun, but Jettion had already disappeared.

_This is it._

Windsor met Onyxia's gaze. He looked paler than a dead man, his eyes barely focusing, as if his body had given up and allowed the mind to run it solely on willpower instead of energy. He cradled two stone tablets tight to his chest. "The masquerade is over, Lady Prestor."

Her grip on her staff tightened. No footfalls scuffed in the silence, and to Onyxia's ears it sounded as if everyone held their breath at once. Even Bolvar had gone still beside her, breath trapped in his chest.

"Or should I call you by your true name?" said Reginald, with a patronising tilt to his head. "Onyxia."

The name whispered through the halls.

This was it. Her last chance to make everything right. _You have caught me, and so I surrender_. _I am here on behalf of the Black Dragonflight to cease all hostilities against the Burning Steppes using any means possible. The human kingdom of Stormwind is guilty of killing our mates and children, encroaching on our territory with no regard for dragon life, and —_

But at that moment she heard footsteps. She looked behind her. The heads of the Brotherhood of Cinders turned to follow Onyxia's gaze.

Nalice stood in the doorway, a bundle of blankets clutched in her arms.

Her voice so low that only dragonkin could hear, Onyxia said in Draconic, "_Go._"

But slowly, so slowly that nobody else may have seen, Nalice shook her head. "_I knew what you would try to do,_" she said just as silently, "_Don't you dare…"_

So this was it.

_No matter what you choose tonight…_

Her choice had already been made for her. It had been made the moment Hora came to Stormwind.

"Her, too," said the hunter, Lana Stoutwell. Onyxia's head snapped towards her to see the hunter pale. The scales on her breastplate glittered.

_I came to protect my children. At all costs._

"But not the child," Lana continued. "Who's — "

"That child has no place here!" said Bolvar.

"Oh." Nalice smiled. "And don't I know it."

"Get — " said the hunter.

But her words died as Onyxia took a single step towards Reginald Windsor. She summoned a bitter, hateful laugh. "You will be incarcerated and tried for treason, Windsor." She smirked. "If you're lucky, maybe your illness will kill you in there. If not, I shall have the privilege of watching with glee as they hand down a guilty verdict and sentence you to death by hanging..." She lowered her voice to a seductive whisper, still gazing into his eyes, "And as your limp body dangles from the rafters, I shall take pleasure in knowing a mad man has been put to death. After all..." She tilted her head. "What proof do you have? Did you expect to come in here, point your fingers at royalty and leave unscathed?" She swept her eyes around the room, meeting every angry gaze with a cold stare of her own.

She would not back down, for she had a duty to her people. She refused to acknowledge the Suicide Squad, who drew their swords, but some of the Brotherhood of Cinders turned to keep them in their vision.

_No matter what you choose tonight, the same people will die…_

There would be blood. So much blood. How could she ever hope to hide it? They stood on the brink of a massacre, a hair's breadth from painting the walls red. She could already see the glassy-eyed bodies piled on top of one another, mortal and dragonkin blood mixing on the stone.

_They killed my children, skinned their bodies and wore their scales as armour…_

It was too late for peace. It had been too late for peace years ago.

"You will not escape your fate, Onyxia." Reginald Windsor rose his chin. "It has been prophesied — a vision resonating from the great halls of Karazhan. It ends now."

A prophecy? A vision? Hora had never mentioned —

When she got her hands on that Bronze _whelp_...!

"The Dark Irons thought these tablets to be encoded." Reginald Windsor held up the tablets. "This is not any form of coding, it is the tongue of ancient dragon."

Windsor took a step back into the cradle of the crowd. "Listen, dragon. Let the truth resonate throughout these halls..."

He began to read, but Onyxia did not hear his words. They flowed through her, inside her mind, wriggling underneath her skin and through her consciousness.

She froze.

Deep within, something changed. She looked about the room, past Windsor who still read, at the Suicide Squad who watched, poised, and —

Something twitched. Her bones groaned. Everything tingled, and then —

She braced herself just in time for a blast of powerful magic, bent over double and gritting her jaw as she did all she could to keep it at bay. She felt her bones fracture, weaken and shift. Pain washed over her.

The Suicide Squad made no sound as within her, the words swam and flooded her, replacing her blood and deafening her to everything around her. Her vision blacked out as her claws dug into the shaft of her staff, her only way out, and she grit her jaw. She followed the magic as it rippled around the room, coalesced behind her and curled around —

She whirled around. "_Nalice, get out of here!_"

Nalice jerked herself out of its thrall, and turned and fled. The Brotherhood leapt immediately to pursue, but Onyxia whipped out a hand and summoned all the magic she could muster. Bricks and mortar fell from the ceiling and walls, and the corridor caved in with a blast of magic, sending dust flying into the air.

_No matter what you choose tonight…_

The magic won.

Onyxia's body contorted and all her agony focused into a tiny point. Her scream of agony transformed into a deep roar that shook the room. Her body swelled, her claws sprung and her dragon form overwhelmed her like a flood. Her forelegs fell to the throne room floor with a thunder crack as the stone split beneath her claws. Bolvar stumbled away.

Reginald stopped reading. The Brotherhood of Cinders gazed at her, eyes blown wide with fear, not daring to breathe. The Suicide Squad stood with their legs apart, gripping their swords, ready, waiting, eager…

… _it all ends up the same anyway._

Onyxia fixed her yellow eyes on Windsor, her lips curling back to bare her teeth. Her claws curved in anticipation, scratching the stone floor. "Curious, Windsor," she said, and she felt Bolvar freeze beside her. He knew this voice. He knew _her_ voice. "In this vision, did you survive? I only ask…" Her eyes narrowed. "Because the one thing I can and will assure is your death. Here and _now._"

She pounced. A split second later her jaws closed around him. She shook him from side to side and threw him against the wall. Blood splattered, and he fell down without moving.

"Brotherhood!" she heard Fordragon bellow as she spread her wings. "Seize this monster!"

The staff was still nearby, near enough to use.

_It's over._

She reached for its magic, and it came to her. In the background she felt Bolvar's panic again, his sense of betrayal, his shock, panic for his daughter —

"Do not let her escape!" shouted Withering.

"So, Bolvar," said Adam Rivers with a smile, stepping through the crowd. The rest of the Squad stepped forward. He smiled at Bolvar. "You asked me once why she calls us the Suicide Squad."

Eight forms around the room glowed white.

"I think I can guess why." Bolvar clenched his sword.

"It's because we're not going home," said Omnarion, as seven other identical dragonspawn appeared. "And we're taking as many of you mortal bastards with us as we can."

The magic coalesced inside her.

With an explosion of white light, Onyxia vanished.

-o-O-o-

The staff wasn't enough. She reached into her own magic source. It strained her, made her body scream as it thundered through a tunnel of lights and colour, draining her dry. Her connection with Bolvar stretched thin and —

_Snapped_.

She fell onto the familiar hot stone of the Wyrmbog. The cavern's roof stretched high above her. Eggs lined the stone walls, nestled between cracks of magma.

_Empty._

"… _And we're taking as many of you mortal bastards with us as we can."_

_No! It can't —_

She struck out, searching the emptiness, the void inside her. Where was his heartbeat? Where was the constant buzz of activity she'd felt, always, even after what Hora had done to her? The hum of his thoughts? Distance had never been a factor before, why now, why _now_?

Nothing answered her panic. Only silence. Only emptiness. The haze still shrouded her mind. It had to be distance, it had to be the medicine. He couldn't be dead, he —

_He'd had eight dragonspawn advance on him all at once, he could not have survived_…

He _had_ to. The Brotherhood had been there to defend him! Who would save her child from Nalice if he was gone? Who would raise Sabelia even if Nalice did not kill her? Who would look after Anduin with him gone?

_I never wanted this!_

Windsor. _That bastard_. Thank the Titans she'd _broken him_. Even if he were still alive when she teleported away, his injuries would kill him in minutes.

Something cracked underneath a massive paw. She looked down to see the medallion beside the splinters that had once been her staff, shattered across the ground. Empty. Lifeless. Useless. But the magic had been so strong it didn't even need the medallion anymore…

_Or maybe it did. Maybe he's not dead, it must be because it broke!_

… _Eight dragonspawn, all at once, nobody could survive that._

Would she ever find out if Bolvar had died, or would she be left wondering for years and years as Sabellian's disappearance happened all over again?

_Nonsense_. A shudder wracked her body. _Bolvar's on this planet, Theramore would be buzzing with activity within the week if he died…_

_Eight dragonspawn…_

She shifted into human form, and almost stumbled. The drugs Hora had given her were too concentrated in this form. Bolvar's necklace tinkled against her neck. She shifted back again, but…

She couldn't fly like this. She could barely keep her eyes open. Now that the adrenaline had faded away, all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep.

_I have a job to do._

"Mother?"

How was it she hadn't heard Ebonaria coming? Onyxia looked up to see a wyrm at the entrance to the tunnel.

"Ebon," Onyxia murmured. She shook herself. "The mission in Stormwind has been a failure."

Ebonaria was like what Onyxia had once been, she thought, as her daughter straightened. "What are your orders?"

Onyxia couldn't fly now. Especially after the sheer amount of magic had been torn from her. Her mana was gone and she had dipped into her body's own energy, it was a miracle she'd survived the journey. "Make sure the dragonspawn are in safety," she said. "Keep them within the Dragonmurk. War is on the horizon. I must… Romathis needs to be warned, I must fight with him."

_This is the beginning of the end._

But she couldn't, not like this. "I shall have to rest, but only for a night. Send out our best drake to warn Romathis, in case Nalice did not survive." That was all she could afford. The drugs' effects should wear off by then, then she could make the long cross-continent flight. "In the meantime, keep watch for mortals. We must stay hidden."

"_Hidden_?" Thank the Titans that Ebonaria was not as vocal in her derision as Nalice was. She frowned, but bowed and said, "Of course, Broodmother."

"Go."

Ebonaria departed.

_Bolvar_...

A human. _Her_ human. If he'd died it was because of her, because she had failed. She should have made peace with mortals years ago. She should have been honest from the beginning, and less of her children would have died. She should have better prepared Samantha to kill. And Saya... she should have found Sam, told her to keep Saya rather than allowing Nalice to pick her up. Who knew what had happened to her human child?

A soft flutter caught her attention. She saw a few whelplings fluttering by the shards of some eggs. She felt a tiny glimmer of happiness. At least some of her children were safe and healthy.

The whelplings saw each other.

They seized upon one another, tearing and screeching and clawing. By the time one killed the other, the survivor sported several deep cuts and a gash where one eye had been. Onyxia stared at the dying survivor in horror.

It had not always been this way, had it? Once upon a time, whelplings did not kill each other. Once upon a time this was unimaginable. But now...

_Old Gods speak to all of my children, no matter how young they are, no matter what they were born as._

She took the whelpling between her front paws. It hissed in pain, and allowed its mother to lick it clean, before it curled up. Onyxia closed her eyes and lay down with the whelp between her paws. She wanted to sleep, but she didn't let herself do so, occasionally licking the injured whelp.

Jettion. Saya. Two of the hundreds of children she had had over the millennia, whose fates were unknown. Did someone save Saya? Was Jettion at this moment being gunned down by Lana Stoutwell? Or did he lie on the cold floor of Stormwind Keep, his blood staining the perfect stone?

As the last spikes of adrenaline faded from her, the fog over her mind won, and she fell asleep.

-o-O-o-

_He saw — _

_Tiffin Wrynn, staring at him in disgust. "You're a brutal woman. Sometimes I wonder what Varian was thinking. Of course we have to try to pay them, it's what they deserve!"_

_Baron Sablemane, with his limp and a frown, speaking a language that sounded foreign to Bolvar's ears, and yet he understood. Or, at least, it looked like Baron Sablemane — he was too tall, too big to be human, and this Sablemane had a thick beard and less scars than the one he'd known. "Yes, on the ships. Going south, probably towards the eastern continent from what I've seen. Those children are so small they look like a different race entirely… maybe I'll keep an eye on them every once in a while. Did you know 'human' is Vrykul for 'runt'?"_

_Himself, wearing his palace guard uniform, with an arched eyebrow. "Lady Prestor, I'm no politician, I told you I — a what?" A sceptical frown. "A… gift? I'm sorry? With all due respect I don't even know you…" A medallion that went around his neck as his words were silent. "Perhaps I will accept, then. For Stormwind."_

_He felt —_

_Rage. Children, dead, everywhere, thanks to _them_. Brutal, foolish mortals won't ever touch _my_ children again!_

_Grief. Fear. Hopelessness. Something that teared and pulled, a magical artefact that raced away so fast it shattered with the pressure as something cracked at his throat, velocity that tore it all apart and turned it inside out and backwards and —_

_He heard —_

Screams. Roars. The sound of dying dragonspawn as metal clashed with metal.

He jerked back into the present, clenching his sword. His mind had been washed clear as if by rain, the clearest it had ever been, silent without the buzz of voices he had grown so accustomed to. Something burned at his throat. He ripped something from it and threw it away. The skin felt hot under his touch. He saw a medallion — _the medallion —_ bounce across the stone floor and roll to a stop, near —

Bolvar's heart almost stopped.

His sword clanged on the floor. Bolvar rushed towards his injured friend. Leo's panic-stricken face gazed at him as Bolvar bent over Reginald Windsor, who lay in a pool of his own blood. His face was caked in sticky liquid as he gazed up at Bolvar. "Reginald!" he said. _Don't die, you can't die, please —_ "I… Reg…" _I am so sorry. So, so sorry._

"Bol..." Reggie's eyes fluttered closed. "The medallion... use..."

A sigh escaped him. Moments later, Reginald Windsor stopped breathing.

Bolvar bowed his head. Something hot ran down his face. "Reg..." he whispered.

He felt a hand grip his shoulder. He looked up to see Leo looking at him with desperation, and both men clung to one another tightly. "I'm sorry," said Leo. "I should have tried harder, I shouldn't have been gone for so long, if I'd seen her for what she was…"

"It's not your fault. It's not your fault, it was never…"

Before, Reginald had been missing. It was as if life had just taken him in another direction. Now, confronted with his death…

How easily he had been able to ignore it before, how simple his life had been as Reginald had anguished for months in a cell, almost forgotten by a man he'd grown up with. Bolvar tightened his grip on Leo, gritting his jaw.

Reginald had deserved so much better.

He heard the shifting of rubble and looked up to see the corridor Onyxia had collapsed being mounted and dug at by red and black tabarded mercenaries. His breath seized in his lungs as he shoved Leo aside. "Saya!" _God damn it could he get his priorities straight for five fucking minutes?_

Light help Nalice if she laid a hand on Saya!

Dust clouded the air, and Bolvar tore at the rubble, ignoring the dragonspawn blood that pooled on the throne room floor as priests tended to the injured and dying. Onyxia hadn't just collapsed the ceiling — the roofs of a couple of floors above had also fallen in, and priests with the Brotherhood's tabard treated a couple of injured nobles. Bolvar snarled at a table that lay with its legs wedged in the stone, squeezed through the tiny space beneath, and stumbled into the hall beyond. "_Nalice! Get back here!_"

Not a sound answered him.

If he were a dragon in need of escape, where would he —

_The gardens._

His lungs seared, his legs burned and his side ached, but Bolvar did not stop as he tore down the corridors past panicked nobles and confused servants. He burst into the open air through a doorway, past an enclosed garden, down the walkways —

There.

On a walkway that lay open to the air, with the distant harbour a scent on a breeze and the library not far away, Nalice leaned against a pillar with the child in her arms. The moon illuminated them both. Bolvar stopped in his tracks as he faced her. There was no railing, and behind her lay a sheer drop. He heard a few sets of footsteps come to a stop behind him, and the _shing_ of drawn weapons.

And as Bolvar gazed at her, he _knew_. He remembered things he'd never known, until now.

_Nalice. Ambassador to Wyrmrest, whenever we decide to play nice with the Reds. Daughter of Sabellian, not worthy of walking on the same ground. Six thousand years old, prime consort to Serinar, my niece. Nasty piece of work._

He brushed it aside. "Nalice."

"What took you so long?" Nalice rose her eyebrows and tilted her head, looking more like a condescending teenager than a six thousand year old monster. "You know, this spawn is an abomination of our blood. I cannot believe I am _related_ to it. It will never be as strong as _my_ kind. Our children feast upon each other when they hatch. But a mortal child..." she held out the blankets. "All you have to do is drop it, and it's dead."

"Nalice." Bolvar's voice came out in a croak. "Please. Give her here. We'll let you go if only you give her back."

"I intend to go whether you allow me to or not." Bolvar had never heard Nalice laugh before. It reminded him of a wicked witch from a fairytale. "You know, if I wanted to ensure its demise..." She plucked the baby from her blankets and held her in a single hand — a single _claw_, terrible and black and enormous — and held her over the drop. Saya began to wail and shriek.

"Please." Bolvar's heart almost stopped. "Give her here. It's got nothing to do with her."

"It's pathetic, how sentimental you are," said Nalice. "Especially over such weakness. It couldn't feed itself, you know, it has to have a _parent_ feed it. How is it you do not eat your own young out of frustration?"

"She's just a child — "

"And you defend and _justify_ such disgusting atrocities. 'It's just a child' _indeed_. As if that compensates for being a parasite."

Saya fell quiet. Two green eyes stared at Bolvar as the child's panic vanished. Again, his mind drew up knowledge he didn't even know he had, remembered thoughts he'd never pondered. _… Lives non-linearly. How long does each phase last? Minutes, hours, days? Would she ever know her own mental age, or would she never be able to keep count? Could she ever learn to speak, when she'll never have a point in remembering anything before she's torn twenty years away from it?_

The baby smiled at him.

"Nalice," said Bolvar quietly. "Put her down."

"I think you fail to understand the consequences upon yourself if this child lives," said Nalice. "I would be doing you a favour."

… _Killing. Mortals can't tolerate the voices of Old Gods, can they? Goodness knows our own kind couldn't._

"Give her back," said Bolvar.

Nalice shrugged. "Fine. I suppose you deserve this burden. It would not make a difference to _me_ whether the child lives or dies, considering Onyxia failed anyway."

She set the naked baby down on the cold tiles, throwing the blanket over her. "Goodbye, brat. Let's see how long you last before they have to cut you down."

She turned and stepped over the edge. Her form dropped from view.

What rose beyond was a behemoth. A massive dragon swept away, its powerful wings beating at the air with impossible speed until it disappeared over the mountains.

Bolvar wrapped the blanket around his distressed daughter and held her tight to his chest. "Shhh." He clung to her tightly. "It's alright, Saya. Shhh. I'm here. It's going to be alright."

Saya made a soft sound, before her face screwed up. But she did not cry.

"We got them all," said a voice behind him. "The nobles are gathering because of the racket from before, I took a good look at all of them, none of them are dragons."

"Are you sure?" came Leo's voice behind him.

"Positive," said the dwarven huntress. "Two are unaccounted for, but one's been gone for a couple of days now and the other formally resigned just before it happened, so he must've known it was coming and bailed."

Bolvar rounded on them both. "Just how many damn dragons were there?"

… _Quinn Summers, Horan Bronzewing, Stephen Fletcher, Maria Winters, Adam Rivers, Zach Davies…_

Unbidden, the knowledge had risen. It was in Onyxia's voice — but it wasn't _her_, he could tell with relief. It was her memory, her recollection, and already it began to fade. _Tell me what she did here. _A shimmer of sadness appeared, before Bolvar shoved it aside. _No, that's useless, tell me what she did!_

_Tiffin Wrynn's dead, well, isn't that a convenient development! I could laugh, truly. Serendipity is on my side!_

_Oh, Varian, if your misery was not so useful I would kill you because of how insufferable it is. _

_No, Wrynn, that was not a suggestion. I have no intention of coupling with you and contaminating my body, that is disgusting. Perhaps I shall send you away, this is unbearable._

A shimmer of mental images appeared in front of his eyes. _The Defias will pay you well for your assistance. After all, it is tragic that Stormwind spent all of its money and made no moves to pay its workers… such a selfish attitude._

A jungle, full of naga and hydras. _Enjoy your imprisonment, brat. I'm sure I'll figure out something I can do with you later. Ugh, I am grateful to see the back of you._ He saw a familiar face, gaunt with malnutrition, a bruise covering one eye…

A dead whelp, in his arms… but his arms were frail like a woman's, and dark. _They kill children. They kill children and skin their corpses._

The images began to fade, and only then did Bolvar see Lana and Leo staring at him.

"Sorry," he said. "The medallion… it backfired. I can see her memories. Well… some of them. They're fading quickly, but I remember some."

Other guild members hovered behind them. Tarani Jensen. Some rogue that Bolvar didn't recognise. A night elf huntress. A dwarven warrior who looked so similar to the other huntress that she must be a daughter, or a relative. "You all defeated Ragnaros within the Molten Core," said Bolvar. "How do you feel about a mission to retrieve our king? I think…" He screwed up his face in concentration. _Is he dead?_ Nothing answered except vague glimmers of _leaving him alive is the stupidest idea you ever had, Onyxia, are you truly so weak as to have _pity_ on him?_, and a vision of what may have been Nefarian. "I think he's still alive."

The rogue grinned fiendishly. The warrior said, "We need to kill Onyxia."

_Kat, no, don't kill Kat — _He shook himself. _She only wanted to protect her children…_

But then he remembered Reginald's body slamming against the wall. He remembered Anduin's tearful, sleepless nights after his father vanished. He remembered rumours of Van Cleef going on a bloody rampage through Westfall and Elwynn, shot down by Katrana Prestor for lack of proof.

She hid the evidence. She let people die. She poised Stormwind against itself.

_More guards in Stormwind means less for the outlying lands, brother. When you invade they will be defenseless._

_I chose well in having Van Cleef lead the Stonemasons. I'd not dared to hope that a mortal would be so organised, the Defias have been terrorising the countryside. Of course, I don't let these reports reach Wrynn's desk and I never will._

_Ha! Yes, it works beautifully, if I ever feel the urge to I can hear every thought he has in his mind if I so choose. Such a fool, such a disgusting creature. No wonder we liken them to cockroaches, I feel dirty just listening to him…_

_Of course it's easy to have him do my bidding. I'm a sorceress, not a neophyte._

The true extent of what she had done sank in.

She'd almost started a civil war. She'd let innocent people go undefended and ignored as she blocked the ears and eyes of the nobility to them. She'd violated and paraded about his mind as if it was her own. She'd controlled his body for her own ends, made commentary on private thoughts and deeds like a spectator, _driven him to the edge of insanity…_

Kat. Quiet Katrana, with her touches of comfort and soft smiles, who buried herself in books each evening.

How many people had died because she'd pulled the wool over his eyes? How many lives had been ruined? All for the sake of a few _whelps?_ Children or not, _nothing_ justified what she had done —

_Where has she gone?_ he shouted into the void as he felt more memories and knowledge slipping away from him. _Where is she?_

He searched. Drew it from his mind like water from a rock, willed it to appear, and then…

_Dustwallow Marsh. The dragon's eye must be attuned…_

The Brotherhood had gone silent, staring at him again.

"Yes," he said. He nodded to Lana Stoutwell. "Fetch Samantha Inkweaver, bring her to my office immediately. If she's gone, chase her to the ends of the earth. Leo, we have plans to make. Who's your best rogue? I've got a dangerous mission for them, but you're doing something else. There is much justice to be done, but this will take them into Undercity."

"Undercity?" the night elven huntress rose an eyebrow.

"Clarisse is our best rogue other than Leo, sir," said Tarani Jensen as Lana bowed and departed. "She's very quickly proven herself. Trained by Rudolphus Withering himself."

The blonde rogue grinned. "That'd be me! And I've been in Undercity before. It's a dreadful place, simply _dreadful_."

"Then come with me," said Bolvar. "You too, Leo. The rest of you, do what the priests in the throne room tell you to do. Look around for more dragonspawn and deal with them."

When they reached Bolvar's quarters, he gestured to a couple of armchairs by the fire and sat down himself, Saya in his arms. Both Brothers stared at her. By now, Saya had fallen asleep again, and Bolvar glanced down at her. "This is Sabelia Fordragon."

"So you _were_ — " Leo's tact caught up to him just in time, at which point he said, "How the hell did _she_ happen?"

"That's what I want to know." Fordragon stared into the fire. "She must have played upon our assumptions that dragons can't… bear human children."

"Are you sure it's not going to grow scales?" said Clarisse. "If it grew scales that would be _awful_."

Leo rolled his eyes.

"We must mount an attack upon Blackrock before they have time to prepare." Fordragon gazed down at Saya's sleeping face. "It will be difficult, but you can do it. And... the amulet, did anyone pick up the amulet?"

"This?" Clarisse held up the cursed object. He recalled Katrana Prestor's act of gift-giving, and her sweet smile as she said, _and you won't even remember this meeting, because I'll make sure you forget._ So many years ago…

"Yes," said Bolvar. "That is what she used to... put me under her power. You'll need to find..." No more mental images, but the vague sensation of knowledge came to his mind. "Another dragon will help you activate it. I… don't know how. Another Flight, perhaps."

"Another dragon," said Leo flatly.

"I know," said Bolvar. "But her lair... the Wyrmbog..." He strained to remember. "It's in Dustwallow, I can remember. A lot of it has faded away, like a dream, but I have access to some of her knowledge. She's deep within Dustwallow Marsh, and she has her brood there." _Onyxia_. He couldn't say her name. "We have to attack as soon as possible. After Blackrock, Blackrock's more powerful than the Wyrmbog is."

"Understood," said Leo. "What else?"

"Undercity," said Clarisse pointedly.

"I was getting to that." Bolvar looked at the rogue, who slouched in her chair as if she was a queen being entertained by her royal subjects. "You won't be going into Undercity itself, you'll be going into the ruins of Lordaeron above it. Look for the Royal Archives. Stormwind can't be Onyxia's only victims…" He felt a lump in his throat.

"What do you want me to find?" said Clarisse.

"I knew Katrana Prestor when she was seven years old," said Bolvar. "I knew her _father_. There's no way she could have been a dragon for all this time. But we have a possible lead."

"You're right," mused Leo. "I forgot, I remember Daval Prestor myself…"

"He disappeared in the Second War," said Bolvar. "Anyone willing to guess why?"

"You think the dragons got him." Clarisse leaned forward in her chair.

"There'll be a family tree in the Archives," said Bolvar. "House Prestor cannot have showed up out of nowhere. Even if Onyxia was pretending to be a small child, she'd have had to fool Daval Prestor, and even if Daval Prestor was also secretly a dragon he could not simply show up out of nowhere saying he was related to royalty and be treated like one. They would have checked for lineage, or any peasant could have done it. There is a real House Prestor out there, Katrana Prestor and Daval Prestor would have been real people. And they won't be isolated, either. They'll have brothers, sisters, parents and cousins who would have known them. I doubt the real Katrana Prestor is still alive, because Onyxia would not have let her live and potentially expose her, but she must have family _somewhere_."

"But that was in Lordaeron," said Leo. "They might have all died in the Second or Third War."

"There might be a Forsaken family in Undercity," said Clarisse. "I have connections in Booty Bay. I'd be able to track them down if we had to resort to it."

"And why isn't that amulet telling you?" Leo looked at Bolvar. "You said you had her memories!"

"It's faded," said Bolvar. "I don't have it all. I can only remember so much. But I'm not getting anything here…"

"So the Prestors didn't exist."

"Could've forged the family tree," said Clarisse. "I know what forgeries look like, though. But they could've forged it."

"There _must_ be one," said Bolvar. "This is _nobility_ we're talking about, not a simple birth certificate for enlisting in the army, Daval Prestor claimed to be related to a _king_." He stroked Saya's hair. "Nobody would have known where little Kat Prestor was during the Second War. She could have been found, then. Murdered. Maybe by orcs, and Onyxia took advantage of that… who knows? She would have been targetted because of her noble lineage…"

"I can get there and back in a month, tops," said Clarisse. "It's a few days down to Grom'gol, but you won't believe how fast the zeppelins are, and goblins are easy as hell to bribe. They'll stow me away and feed me as long as they've got incentive."

"I'll pay you well for it," said Bolvar. "Bring back that family tree for me. Dismissed."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Clarisse smirked and gave him a deep, mocking bow, but Bolvar ignored it as she left.

"What about Varian?" said Leo.

"We have to disarm the Black Dragonflight before we can hope to rescue him," said Bolvar. "He's on an island somewhere, crawling with naga and hydras. He must be somewhere where he could keep a close eye on him. There are hydras in Dustwallow, aren't there?"

"One of the islands fit that exact description, actually," said Leo.

"Then once Onyxia is out of the way we'll bring him home."

Anduin would have his father back…

He heard a knock on the door. In came Lana Stoutwell and the night elven huntress, with a very pale Samantha Inkweaver between them. "Good," said Bolvar. "Fetch Miss Perin and tell her to retrieve Anduin from the safe room, she's one of the few people who know where it is. And then catch and cage the whelp, Jettion. I need him for an experiment. I'll give you your payment once I'm done here."

Sam blanched. The huntresses bowed and took their leave.

The guards bowed, and departed. Bolvar gestured to the chair Clarisse had vacated. "Sit."

Samantha obeyed with a small nod. She stared at the fireplace, perched on the edge of her armchair, and wrung her hands. There was a bandage around her shoulder that hadn't been there the day before. He hadn't noticed it when Horan had been helping Katra — _her_.

To his surprise, Leo spoke. "Reggie — " His voice cracked for a moment, before he went on, sounding unsteady. "He told me you spared his life. Thank you."

"Spared his life?" Bolvar looked to them. "What happened?"

"Onyxia and Nalice sent me to kill Reginald Windsor." Sam's voice was quiet, so quiet he almost didn't hear. "But when I got there I couldn't do it. I lied and told them I did. When Nalice found out the truth she was… angry."

That complicated things. Samantha had hovered around Nalice so often her loyalties had not been in doubt. But she'd betrayed them?

"Why, help them, Samantha?" said Bolvar.

"Because I owed them everything." Samantha's tone grew bitter. "Onyxia saved me. When _you_ couldn't care less, she ejected Norris from court, she got me a job, _she_ took care of me when my own kind left me to die."

Leo looked torn. Bolvar frowned.

_When life gave him lemons, he squeezed them in someone's eye…_

_Who?_ he asked, but the memories flittered out of reach, except for an image of a dark room, two dancing candles, a pang of loss and the face of…

"And she comforted you when Mandy died," he said quietly. "Told you about her kin."

She looked up. "How did you…?"

"The magic she used on me backfired when she teleported away," said Bolvar. "I don't need to interview you to know what they intended with you — you're a servant of the Dragonflight. But what would they have done with you when they discovered your treachery?"

"Nalice would have killed me, probably." Sam looked down again. "But Onyxia wouldn't have. She was different. Please don't hurt her." Sam's eyes brimmed with tears. "She was kind. She never did any harm. She only wanted to protect her kin."

"To the contrary, she could have sundered the Alliance for the actions of a few mercenaries." _Because I would have let her!_ "Sam," he said. "You're a danger to us all."

"That would not be new." She bowed her head again. "What I've done will kill her. It'll kill them all, and it'll be all my fault. I deserve the death Nalice would have given me."

"Sam," said Bolvar. "You have twenty four hours to get out of Stormwind. From then onwards, you are permanently exiled from the kingdom, and if you are caught within it ever again you will be punished with death. Is that understood?"

Sam's eyes hardened. "I understand."

"The only reason I'm not having you arrested and put to death for this treachery is because your actions indirectly revealed her for who she is. It wasn't your intention, but Stormwind is in your debt whether either of us like it or not," said Bolvar. "Nonetheless, you betrayed us. You should have come to me the _moment_ you found out. No one who's ever committed treason has escaped the death penalty except for you. You're getting off _lightly_. But if we see you in our lands again that will change. This is your only chance."

He saw a fist clench. He heard her draw in an angry breath. He sat back. "So I will give you the opportunity for you to make a new life for yourself. This time, Sam… don't fuck it up."

To his surprise, when she spoke again her voice was steady and full of loathing as her eyes rose to meet his. "I understand, _Highlord_. Are we done?"

"Don't push your luck, Inkweaver," said Bolvar. "Varian wouldn't have had mercy on you like me. Twenty four hours. Starting now."

Sam left without another word.

"She was my sister," said Leo.

"Your sis — " Bolvar's head snapped to Leo. "What?"

"I didn't know either," said Leo. "Not until recently. Just think, if I'd only talked to her, done what a brother should, she wouldn't have put herself in this position. And Onyxia wouldn't have preyed on her. It must've been a deal, you know, Sam's loyalty in exchange for the job here. Sam would've had to choose between betraying you and dying on the streets."

"And I'm the one who put her in that position." Bolvar shook his head. "Don't blame yourself, Leo. It's my fault. All of it. But now…" A tiny ray of hope appeared. "I'm making this right. I'm going to fix it." He smiled weakly. "Let's go back to Reggie. Give him our last goodbyes. We won't let him die in vain, Leo. I promise you."

Long after Leo departed, Bolvar stared into the fire. He remembered the presence of a booming voice inside his head, of tentacles and thorns, a voice now silent. Had it truly been an Old God as Onyxia suspected? Had she truly been responsible for her actions, or had it controlled her all along?

_Is it right to kill someone who's only a tool? Does it affect me now? Is it picking and choosing what I see of her mind, am I doing the right thing?_

But the last shreds of evidence played in front of his mind's eye. Some evaded him, but others remained. Memories she had of hiding reports of the Defias' victims, Reginald's broken body, Varian half-starved in a cell. And the golden-haired Bronzewing… _it's simple psychology._

She hadn't been controlled. It had been simple suggestion. She'd been responsible for her actions all along.

Bolvar gazed down at the child in his arms, who blinked up at him.

"Little one," said Bolvar. When the child wriggled in his arms, he said, "Alright, maybe not little one. I don't know how old you are inside your head. But let me tell you now… people will never give a damn why you do something. They'll only care about _what_ you do. If you hurt someone, no one will care if your anger was justified. No one will care that you had a good excuse if you let people die, because it will never undo what they did." He shook his head. "Nobody does evil for the sake of being evil. Not even draogns. In the end, the difference between right and wrong is the difference between doing what is right for the people you want to save, and doing what is right for _everyone_. Onyxia wanted to be strong more than anything, but let me tell you, little one — wanting to lash out, to make others hurt for what they did, wanting to hide from the consequences of your actions behind excuses but resisting and facing the music… _that_ is what true strength is."

He stroked her forehead. _She's not afraid to wipe out a nation to do what she thinks is right. She could have fractured the Alliance…_

_I won't allow her or her kin to do that._

* * *

**_A/N:_**

_**JustMe**:__ Next month's going to be a busy one. Even if updates slow, I'll never put this story on hiatus because it means so much to me to update consistently, even if it's slower than I'd like. And, actually, no, you're not the only one! I've seen at least a couple of other people ship the pairing!_

**_Leeroy:_**_ But imagine how he'd be in bed when he's on fire and has a giant helm on! (BRB ducking and covering.)_

**_Zeitlos:_**_ Oh yeah. Life is not fun for Bolvar Fordragon, even in canon._


	41. To Fight Against a God

_**A/N:**__ Whoa, guys, are you serious? Do you think I'd have gone to all this trouble for nothing?_ _"Bronze dragon shows up to ultimately do nothing" would be a shitty fanfic. Not to mention, if part one was going to end well what would I need part two for?_

_Despite the disappointment, not a single person has stated it's unbelievable. Unbelievable would have been Onyxia being forgiven, and even if the latter would be what readers wanted I feel it would have been worse for the story at this point in time. Hora wanted this to unfold. If she wanted Onyxia forgiven for her crimes, she'd have stopped her committing them in the first place. But she didn't. Why?_

_We have yet to find out._

_This isn't over yet._

* * *

_Thanks to __**Coincidencless**__ for beta work!_

_**Warning:**__ Chapter contains gore._

* * *

**Chapter Forty**

* * *

That. Damn. _Bronze_. What had been in the mixture Hora had used on her? Though in dragon form the effects were less potent, without fear to shock her awake the effect was still largely the same; stiffness, soreness, tiredness. Even when Onyxia woke up after over twenty four hours, she still felt groggy with sleep.

How could she fly like _this?_

Far ahead, at least the drake would be well on its way, but could she fly with it? The drake might reach Blackrock in time to issue a warning if Nalice did not escape Stormwind, but would Onyxia? If Stormwind gathered their army fast enough…

But if Bolvar was _alive_…

He'd known Onyxia. He'd talked to her in his head. He'd be livid, but he _knew_ her as something of a friend. Surely he'd understand the Squad had to protect her?

… Or would he? Had the Bronze planned this all along?

She couldn't wait too long. The following dawn Onyxia found Ebonaria, ignoring her aching muscles. "In three weeks," said Onyxia, "start lighting the landing lights every evening at dusk, and keep them on all night. I want this to continue until I return. It may be some months, however, depending on how things are."

_If I return at all._

Ebonaria she spoke with a wary expression, watching Onyxia. "A portal from Theramore is unreasonable?"

Onyxia stretched her wings. It had been too long since she had flown, and now she would have to fly for far too long with little interruption. "I guarantee that there will be so many anti-dragon measures I could not set foot in any Alliance cities without setting off something. Never underestimate the ingenuity of a mortal in an emergency, and this will be one for them. Ironforge will be just as dangerous as Stormwind right now. _Everyone_ will be alert. Even Theramore. Stay hidden, Ebon. If Blackrock falls, we'll be all that's left…"

"Understood," said Ebonaria.

-o-O-o-

A combination of headwinds, encroaching storms that forced her to land and wait out, and the last lingering grogginess meant she covered little distance in the first days of her journey. For the first time in a long while, with the last shreds of the storm above her, Onyxia hunted again. When the clouds dissipated she set off once again with the clear sky watching over her.

Exhaustion dogged her when the coastline appeared on the horizon after a week and a half, stretching as far as she could see. In the distance she Stormwind squatted on the coast, half obscured by the smog of the Dwarven District. How many times had the smell been jammed down her throat as she accompanied Anduin on the long journey to the park?

No matter how close she dared come to Stormwind, Bolvar's presence did not reappear. Her heart sank. Had she been wrong? Had he died after all? She struck out with her consciousness, searching for him…

_Bolvar. Please…_

If he had a mental shield up, she would have found it. If he was protected from mind magic by some trinket she would have felt it. Not nothingness. Not emptiness that felt as if it had always been there. It was as if he'd never been…

The wind changed. It brought with it the scent of scorched earth from the Steppes, and…

_No_.

Onyxia's mind shut down all emotion, focusing on her tail as she steered through the air and the ache of her wings. One could not be sure until one approached, of course. Casualties were inevitable…

She veered north. The relief she expected to feel as the plains of the Burning Steppes rushed underneath her did not come as she homed in on Blackrock Mountain, and the Seat of Nefarian.

The smell grew stronger. She flew by the occasional party of mercs that dotted the plain, watching their faces tilt towards her as she passed.

She circled the mountain until she spied the rectangular hollow of the Seat of Nefarian. She ignored the stench that came her way. Inside lay his dark brown body, on his side.

As if he were sleeping.

She landed and shifted into human form. The stench of death and decay jammed its fingers down her throat. She bent over, gagging. Her empty stomach churned. She stumbled closer. "Romathis." Her leather shoes stuck to the dark floor as she rounded his body. "Romathis, cease this… this… this foolishness. You cannot sleep at a time like this! Brother, get up…"

The heat dried his scales and mummified the stump of his neck. Blackness stained the floor around him like a sticky void.

"Did the drake not arrive?" she murmured, as if he could hear her. "He should have warned you. Surely you would not have fallen so _easily…? _So quickly? It's barely been two weeks…"

She found the drake not far away from him, deep in the corridors where the stench grew worse. One of her brood who lay in a pool of blood, every scale ripped from his body to reveal muscles that glistened with black. As her breath took in the poisoned air around her she gagged again. She forced her steps onwards.

They'd never be able to clean the blood from the ground even if they scrubbed for the rest of eternity. Without their skin and scales to hold the it in, the blood flooded the floors.

_They_ had stolen Chromaggus's beautifully coloured hide. _They_ hacked off claws and wing webbing, and left every invaluable part of the body to the insects that usurped Blackwing Lair. She called out for someone, anyone; her children, the whelps of other flights, dragonspawn, anything that would answer.

Nobody did.

She found the room full of subdued whelps, with the short collumns squatting beside empty nest and what had once been a rainbow of children. She felt nothing but dim fascination.

_We all look the same without our scales…_

They lay together like macabre eggmates that had piled upon one another and fallen into a bloody sleep. They were children of other Flights, mingling together as one. Children who never should have been stolen away from their mothers…

_She said my father was alive. The Bronze._

The Bronze was a lying traitor.

_When he gets back, he'll see most of his Flight destroyed…_

She lied about that too. Of course she did. Bronzes lied about everything. They played god with forces they did not understand.

_Did we win in the other timeline? Did we turn the rest of the world into puppets for Old Gods? Is that why you came to stop it now?_

Obviously, she lied about Old Gods as well. Surprised? Ha. Of course, you should have expected it.

_Old Gods, begone! I know this is you!_

Did the children have to be sacrificed? Where does it stop, didn't the Bronze kill enough? This is your fault. It's not the Bronze who almost tore a human nation apart. It's not the Bronze that sabotaged them from the beginning. It's not the Bronze who's responsible for Tiffin's death and Varian's disappearance.

_Bronze — you were supposed to stop this from happening! You were supposed to save us, not kill us all! Was this what you wanted all along?_

Nothingness. No anger, no grief. Nothing but a void in the heart. How melodramatic.

_How do I know you weren't serving Old Gods too? You said you were training me, that I'd get out and fight those Old Gods and stop us from being hunted forever!_

And here lay the hunt, all around her, buzzing with flies and the putrid stench of decay. It was a good hunt. They must have taken home so many scales for their pretty little armour, enjoyed butchering the children all around them and the adults. Nothing had been safe from them. _Nothing_. The Brotherhood was a large guild; the entire lot must have been here. Sixty, perhaps seventy.

_Where do I go from here? Where do I even start? I don't know where to go, I don't know how to defeat them, why did I never ask?_

If only Sabel were here…

_You didn't confirm it. You neither confirmed nor denied. Everything hinged on me making a choice, and that choice would be made in the face of uncertainty. If I knew Sabel was alive and coming, I'd wait for him. You don't want me to do that. If I knew Sabel was dead and never coming back I'd destroy those fools, I'd rip them apart, I'd make them sorry they'd ever heard of the Black Dragonflight!_

She unclenched her fists. Ignored the stickiness in her palms, ignored the puncture wounds she'd left in Katrana Prestor's skin.

_Is Sabel alive? I'm supposed to come to the wrong conclusion, aren't I? I was supposed to think he was dead… or am I supposed to assume that you'd make me leap to the wrong conclusion? If I do something you don't like…_

One wrong choice, and the Bronze would go back and undo it all.

_How can I fight someone who can go backwards through time? How can I fix something when you will sabotage me with every step I take? I was a rat in a maze the entire time!_

If only Sabel were here… what would he say?

But he wasn't. He couldn't save her. In the end, he couldn't protect their Flight from her mistakes even if he'd been here all along.

She couldn't stay here.

No dragon could make the cross-continental flight again so soon, she needed rest. She felt on the brink of collapse. Her mind barely stirred in its shell. Her emotions lay drained as if by magic.

She breathed fire on all the corpses she found, and walked out of a deserted Blackrock.

Once out, she shifted into her true form and let out a roar that split the heavens, mixing grief, fury and failure.

Perhaps, if she were lucky, it would shake the towers of Stormwind and send them tumbling down.

-o-O-o-

"You have the Dragonbane? It's about _bloody_ time."

"My apologies, my Lord. It took some time to distill it some more after the Brotherhood took most of…"

"I'm not interested in excuses. Where's the whelp?"

"He'll be brought in soon — "

"Damn it, who's knocking on the door?"

"My Lord, there's a mercenary outside, with a letter from Nethergarde — "

Over the past two weeks, Bolvar scrabbled to pick up the pieces. Letters from the outlying regions that had been hidden from him had long since been burned by Onyxia, but once Darkshire, Goldshire and all the other settlements had discovered her crimes they'd come flooding back with a vengenace. Bolvar found himself inundated by tragedy; stories of families slaughtered by murlocs, travellers killed by rampaging Defias, kobolds overflowing mines, all of which caused shortages as trade was disrupted and…

And Stormwind had never known. He'd never listened. He'd relied on _proof_ which Katrana Prestor kept hidden from him. She'd always made sure _Stormwind_ was well supplied, always at the cost of the other regions.

In a time of crisis humanity came together. Lady Proudmoore had personally used her considerable power to teleport warlocks to Theramore, saving a long boat trip, after she'd assisted Bolvar with plans. At this very moment they could be summoning their guildmates to Kalimdor. Theramore would be safe; the guards had been doubled in the city and scouts had been sent out to assist the Brotherhood.

Mathias Shaw gave him a hard stare. Katrana Prestor's replacement, Lord Grey, looked sympathetic. The politician clutched papers in his withered hands, and his silver hair looked thin on his head.

"Nethergarde this time?" said Bolvar. "They're late to the party."

"It's quite a way from the Blasted Lands," said Shaw. "Shall I let them in?"

"Of course."

"Highlord." A female gnome stepped in and bowed. "I bring a letter from Nethergarde asking for reinforcements. There's an increased population of demons that are — _eep!_"

As he came in, a servant holding a growling cage tripped over the gnome. "Sorry!"

"Ah, good," said Bolvar. He tossed a pouch of money to the gnome. "Please leave the letter on my desk, I'll send someone back with my reply."

"I'll be in the city for a while, my Lord," said the gnome. "I can take a reply back."

"Thank you, I'll send for you when — what's your name?"

"Pennwyn Wintercog, sir, and — "

"Someone shut up that whelp, that growling is getting on my nerves! I'll send for you later, Wintercog, things are chaotic — _shut up, whelp!_"

"The cover's done nothing, sir," said the servant. "He's been grumpy ever since we got him. Thought the darkness would calm him down but it hasn't."

"Out!" Bolvar made shooing motions. "Everyone out except Shaw and Lord Grey. Lord Grey, how do you feel about catching whelps?"

The noble looked at the cage, wringing his hands. "It's not muzzled."

"That's what we're going to have to fix." Shaw gestured to a few leather items on the desk as the gnome and servant closed the door behind them. "It's a miracle they got the whelp in there with minimal casualties."

Lord Grey blinked at Shaw. "Minimal.. Casualties?"

"Well, only one person fainted from blood loss and they were brought back from the brink, so I wouldn't be too worried. They weren't trained in combat so it's to be expected. Are you, Lord Grey?"

"… No, Master Shaw."

"Then stand back."

Bolvar pulled on thick leather gloves. "This may take a while. It took them two hours to catch him last time and he wasn't getting tired."

Lord Grey muttered an unnoblelike word as Shaw picked up a towel.

"Everyone ready?"

Shaw nodded.

Bolvar opened the cage door.

Jettion squatted inside and growled.

"You're going to be difficult, aren't you?" said Bolvar.

"As much as possible," the whelp answered.

"Why am I _not_ surprised you can talk?"

"I apologise. I can continue to pretend to be a dumb animal if you wish."

Wonderful. He had his mother's sarcasm.

Bolvar reached in with one gloved hand and tried not to flinch as the whelp snarled and closed his jaws over it. "Brilliant." He drew the whelp out. "Now we just have to —" as he made to grab the whelp with his other hand, Jettion suddenly let go and wheeled away. Shaw threw the towel; it missed. Bolvar snarled. "_Of course_ it wouldn't be easy!"

For ten minutes, Shaw and Bolvar chased the whelp around the study. "By all means, Lord Grey," Bolvar drawled. "Help whenever you like. We have all day, after all."

Lord Grey winced. Bolvar sighed as Jettion dived for his desk, grabbed the letter the gnome had left, and alighted on a curtain rod. "Young whelp," said Bolvar as Shaw threw the towel again and missed. "I hope you understand that there are _severe_ penalties for tampering with Stormwind mail."

The whelp didn't answer. Of course he didn't. Stupid _rat_. Shaw lunged at the curtain rod, so Jettion sat on top of the bookshelf instead. Or on top of the chandelier. Or underneath a chaise lounge. Or the curtain rod again.

There was a knock on the door. "Damn it, not _now_," said Bolvar.

"I'll take care of it while you're busy," said Lord Grey.

"No, don't — !"

Lord Grey proved himself to be the most useful archchancellor Stormwind had ever had by opening the door. Jettion proved to be the most compliant whelp Bolvar had ever met by flying out of it. With the letter in his jaws.

"Right," said Bolvar. "I'm going to the training square. Lord Grey, summon Miss Wintercog and see if she can recall the letter off by heart. I'm going to see how many target dummies I can dismember."

"It's getting expensive, my Lord," said Grey.

To his credit, he only mildly flinched at Bolvar's glare.

Partway to the training room, he stumbled. An empty void suddenly opened up inside him, sucking at him with grief.

He listened. He felt Onyxia's slow heartbeat. Was that her despair he felt, or his own stress?

He shook his head, and carried on.

-o-O-o-

Stormwind didn't fault him. Oh, some did, but most blamed Onyxia's "mind control", and he'd been surprised how many people hadn't blamed him for Saya's existence, hadn't blamed him for what happened.

It was more than he deserved.

Onyxia's memories had since faded from his head, but he knew they were not gone. They lay buried in his subconscious. He'd had an odd feeling about one of the bookcases in Katrana's study once, and had found a box past a false panel in the back. Inside were what had since been dubbed the Onyxian Letters. Kair had been set to work and paid overtime ever since they'd been found. His fluency in Draconic kept him bent over his desk with his quill long into the night.

Onyxia hadn't only kept letters that her daughter sent her, but had made meticulous records of the letters she had written as well. After a while she not only sent orders to her daughter in Dustwallow Marsh but gave her detailed information on human culture.

_Marriage, for instance,_ Onyxia had written, _is an enormous double-standard. Humans claim to mate for life because of the institution of marriage, but that could not be farther from the truth. Humans periodically mate with one another but hold one another to no commitment. Marriage is supposedly a union binding until death, however divorce is increasingly common among mercenaries, whose relationships are quite short-lived due to their volatile nature and the danger of their work, and has since began to spread to the merchant classes. Much like how protecting one's mate in our society is the ideal, ultimately, the longevity of marriage is ignored in quite a similar way._

Trust Onyxia to snark about mercs.

"The good thing is," said Kair, "we now have an understanding of Black Dragon culture. You could write volumes on the information she has implied or otherwise given us." He tapped his finger on the parchment of the most recent letter he'd translated. "From what she writes about human culture, we can form hypotheses on her Flight." He tapped the part he'd copied about marriage. "By the looks of it, it was once the norm to protect one's mate or consorts, but things are different these days. Do dragons attack their mates now? Or do they simply turn a blind eye when their mates are in trouble?"

"Bloodthirsty beasts." What little sympathy Bolvar had once had for them had vanished. Dangerous dogs had to be put down before they killed more people. "Thank the Light Nefarian is dead. That's the prime danger gone."

"She does raise valid points..." Kair rifled through a stack of papers. "Here. Information on the shops of Stormwind gathered in the last census. Two out of three pieces of dragonscale armour are made with the scales of whelps; they're more flexible than adult scales but still durable, and resist fire. Hunters are fond of them. Without them, the Brotherhood would never have taken Nefarian down — or _Romathis_, as he's known in the Draconic tongue."

"Whelps, eh?"

"Highlord." Kair put down the paper. "This explains everything. Why she came here, why she did so much to sabotage the mercenaries and the Brotherhood of Cinders. We've been killing her children and skinning them for _armour_."

"And?"

Kair frowned at him. "Highlord, if that happened to _our_ children diplomacy would have been the last thing on my mind. I don't make excuses for what she did, but they didn't sow chaos for the sake of it. They're not evil. Misguided, perhaps, but in the end… and can you blame them?"

Bolvar snorted. "I fail to see how the life of a bloodthirsty beast compares to a child. Whelps kill; children don't."

"Highlord — "

"Remember the couple who came into the audience chamber yesterday, speaking of how Van Cleef had razed their farm? I'd love to see you explain your sympathy to them. Or what about the soldiers of Goldshire, who were so short handed that scouts were forced to investigate the murloc population alone, leading to multiple, preventable deaths? Or the People's Militia in Stormwind, formed because they had no defence at all because Onyxia hid this fact from me? Go on, tell them she only wanted to defend her nasty babies, I'm sure they'll understand it's for the greater good!"

"That's enough." Kair's face darkened. "Highlord, I understand you face a lot of stress and shame right now — "

"You're not the one having to deal with the flood of people who have come from as far as Redridge to speak to me in the last two weeks," said Bolvar. "I'm only now starting to see the true extent of what destruction she brought. It stops _now_."

"But will it?" said Kair. "If we always strike back because we cannot come to an agreement and pay one another reparations, will it ever stop?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Bolvar. "It'll stop. We're _making_ it stop. Now get back to work."

After he departed, Kair shook his head and sighed. He turned back to the parchment on his desk. "Myth. Anduin. Stop eavesdropping."

Both blushing boys crept from their hiding place behind a doorway. "I'm sorry," said Myth.

Kair continued to write, his eyes flicking over the Draconic runes in front of him. Then he glanced at the prince. "Anduin? What is wrong?"

"I…" Anduin sighed, his shoulders heaving. "I'm happy they're going to find my father. I really am…"

"But…?"

"Uncle Bolvar…"

"He has been stressed lately." Kair refilled his quill. Myth rolled his eyes.

"I know," said Anduin. "But he's acting exactly like Auntie Ka — like Onyxia used to."

-o-O-o-

She'd never seen so many mercenaries in the Steppes.

It wasn't as if it were crowded, by any means. Westfall in the summer was far more populous, and most mercenaries avoided that place. Once upon a time, however, one would be hard pressed to find even a single mercenary past Morgan's Vigil. Now, Onyxia encountered clusters of three or four every hour. They didn't dare approach her, but they recognised her. She killed them every time she found them. More and more she found dragonspawn survivors who reported their camps being razed by mercenaries. She ordered them to group up and retreat to the Badlands. The Badlands were hardly ideal, but the day before she'd flown over and discovered what few dragonkin there were there untouched. Broodmother Nyxondra had assured Onyxia she had seen few, if any, mortals within the last few months. "But they will have to avoid Kargath," said Nyxondra. "The last thing we want is the Horde on our backs right now. It will take them a while to discover what happened in Stormwind, but when they do, they will be on their guard as well."

"Is Nalice safe?"

"She came through the area a week ago when the battle started. She's searching for some traitor or other."

Good luck with _that_. If Stormwind discovered Sam had served the dragons once she'd be executed for treason and Nalice would never see her again.

Onyxia could not remain in the Eastern Kingdoms forever. Far too soon for her comfort she began the long journey back. Once at the Wyrmbog, she could rest at last, and for as long as she needed. There, she could begin the phase of her next plan. The Old Gods never slept, after all, and what was left of her Flight still needed to be delivered from their thorny grasps.

It was time to go home.

-o-O-o-

Bolvar waded through grass as tall as his waist. A vibrant sky stretched above him.

In the distance, a man in orange robes picked herbs.

Every time, Bolvar walked towards him. Every time, he didn't make it. Thorned tentacles split through the ground, shattering the earth's crust, sending earthquakes rippling through his being as their thick trunks blotted out the sun and sent it into shadow. They snatched him from the ground and shook him like a rag doll, broke him against the ground, all snaking tendrils towards him to rip him apart, limb from limb, screaming at him _look what she did, kill them all, how can you even think of sympathy when you never suffered at her hands, you allowed your people to die and left them to rot — _

"My Lord? My Lord!"

Bolvar growled as the voice tore him awake. "Damn it, what have I told you about coming into my quarters without my permission?"

The servant beside the bed quaked. "I'm sorry, my Lord, but you wanted to alerted upon the rogue's return no matter what — "

"Rogue? What bloody — Clarisse?"

"That's her name, my Lord."

"Fine, get out — " He shook himself. _What was wrong with him?_ "I'm sorry. Thanks for bringing it to my attention. Fetch Miss Perin to look after the young one. Tell Clarisse I'll be a few minutes."

What _time_ was it? The sky behind the curtains was black. Grunting, Bolvar hauled himself out of bed, willing himself to calm.

Sometimes, he still felt paranoid that Onyxia controlled him even now.

Now he knew better than to dismiss the idea. He'd been angry, far angrier than he should be even under the circumstances. He'd growled and snapped at too many people…

_How do I make it stop?_

When the amulet backfired, Bolvar hadn't been left with just a keen sense of Onyxia's consciousness. He'd been left with the beast that had been trapped inside her, but now he couldn't hear its whispers. Now it tainted him, and half the time he could not tell to whom his anger belonged… him? Or _it_?

He'd find the servant later. Apologise. Of course, the bastard didn't deserve it for waking him up —

_Damn it, I told him to wake me if any of the Brothers wanted me! Yeesh, stop getting so angry._

Bolvar splashed his face with cold water in the bathroom before he threw on his clothes. Sometimes, after that recurring nightmare, he still woke in the night and reached for Kat.

The throne room was empty except for the newest rank of elite guards, the Lions. Stormwind Guard had shed the Suicide Squad as a name, and picked the eight greatest fighters to replace them. Even now, Bolvar felt chills go down his spine. They'd been checked over by the most experienced hunters the Brotherhood had known, they couldn't be dragonkin…

"Welcome back," he said. "You're earlier than expected."

Clarisse stood in the middle of the room, as perky as if she hadn't been across the entire Eastern Kingdoms and back.

"The zeppelins are quick." Clarisse held up a leather tube. "Quite quick. You were right, you know. There's a family tree, and it's not a forgery. I found something else, too. A couple of letters. But first…"

She knelt on the ground and pulled a large piece of parchment out of the tube, unrolling it across the floor. Bolvar saw names and forks. "This isn't the Prestor family tree, that's the Perenoldes."

"Look at this." Clarisse jabbed her finger on a name. "There. A king had a bastard child, a girl, who was disowned and married a Prestor."

"Disowned? So why's she still on the tree?"

"As far as I know about Lordaeron law, you couldn't take someone off the family tree. It's about fifty years old, that law, fifty years old, and… look. A few generations later you have Daval Prestor, right here, married an Alana Silversilk, who looks to be quarter high elf. Which'd explain the beauty, if you ask me, Lady Prestor was rather fetching. Stop looking at me like that! See, here, look at their children…"

"Child_ren?_"

"Three." Clarisse shuffled aside so Bolvar could get a better look. "This hasn't been updated since the Second War, I'd say. Looks like they had an older brother called — "

"Richard? Funny, that, I know a boy…"

"Yeah. He would've been five when Katrana and her twin sister were born."

Bolvar peered at the last two names. "Two Katranas? Talk about stupid…"

"No, that's the writing, the second one is Kat_rina_." Clarisse straightened up. "Katrana and Katrina. Talk about confusing twin names. But this letter kind of explains it — " she held out a sheaf of paper to Bolvar, who took it. His eyes scanned the writing. "It's sort of like how if you call your baby Bob, you might register him as being called Robert even if nobody ever calls him that. These kids were called Kat and Rinda… that's the letter from Daval Prestor to the archivist upon their birth. He'd have had to report their births by law for the sake of record keeping, Lordaeron was very finicky about keeping track of royal bloodlines even if he lived in another kingdom. Kat and Rina. Katrana and —"

"Katrina…" Bolvar stared at the paper in front of her. "That day Prestor met Carlos he called her Katrina…"

"Who?" said Clarisse.

"And then near Winter's Veil… that must've been Katrina I saw."

"What day?" said Clarisse. "Who? The hell are you going on about? Highlord or not, you're acting crazy."

Or maybe it hadn't. Maybe it had been the _real_ Kat he'd seen… Maybe Rina had died. Maybe the real Kat had taken her sister's name and married, bore a child, a child just as stubborn and independent as she had been, a child who prowled the streets of Stormwind and later came to encounter Anduin…

A child she named after her older brother.

All along Carlos must have known who Onyxia was, but he'd never spoken up… of course he wouldn't have. The last true Prestor must have lived her entire life in fear of discovery. Richard Prestor must have died; why else would his nephew be named after him?

"That's not all." Clarisse produced another piece of paper. "I went through Terenas's stuff to look for more evidence and there was a letter from Prestor to him. Look at it. Compare it to the first letter announcing the births."

Bolvar held them side by side. "The writing's different. So it wasn't the real Daval Prestor who'd been in Lordaeron…"

_Had the real Katrana Prestor been his captive all along? What happened to her? Is she alive? What about Richard and Rina? Which sister is in Elwynn right now?_

"So yup." Clarisse stood. "There you have it. Gotta feel sorry for the sister, though, if she's alive. Bet people'll take her face _really_ well, eh? They'll take it well alright."

Bolvar's jaw dropped. "Light. She's in Elwynn. Everyone knows Onyxia's face ever since the reveal, the moment they see her they're going to think…" He stood upright. "Go straight to the guild hall, wake up everyone who's left, and meet me at the gates of Stormwind. We need to go, _now_."

It had been three weeks. It could be too late already…

-o-O-o-

The Hacketts had lived in fear their entire life. Mrs Hackett must have been paranoid. Even the workers on her farm wouldn't know her face. She wouldn't risk her son and husband, would she? Even her shop was on the other side of the city to the Keep. The further away she was from politics, the less likely someone would recognise her…

That paranoia bought them time when everything went wrong. She must have known it would, sooner or later. Onyxia couldn't pretend forever.

Katrina Hackett couldn't have gone her entire life hiding who she was. Sooner or later someone's memory would be jogged. She'd been in the Trade District with her face open to the air, where politicians rarely went. Someone would have remembered her. Someone might have seen her again. Someone would have tracked her down…

Three weeks. Three weeks exactly. Coincidence? Or did someone stand behind the scenes like a puppeteer, manipulating people without their knowledge? Why did Bolvar have that sense, why did he think of Bronzewing when he did? What had Onyxia known that he'd forgotten?

At five in the morning, the vigilantes found the Hacketts. Bolvar, accompanied by the night elven huntress, the dwarven priest and Clarisse, didn't need to pour time and effort into locating their farm; the smoke led the way for them. They followed the wind and the acrid stench through the trees. Orange flickered in the darkness. They ran.

Bolvar heard a boy screaming.

"_Let me go, let me go or I'll kill you, let me go — _"

"Come on, little dragon, why don't you show your true face for us?" said a voice.

"_I'm not a dragon, I'll kill you!_"

"Can't find the bitch," said another. "And what, he's still not transforming? Give me the knife, I'll entice him."

"_Mama! Dad! Help — _"

The Brotherhood of Cinders spilled through the charred orchard. A group of vigilantes held Richard Hackett in their grip; without hesitation Bolvar plunged forward and stabbed one in the stomach. Richard dropped to the ground. Clarisse dispatched the others.

In front of them, the house burned.

"There's more in there," said the night elven huntress. "I sense three people just inside, and someone in the other end of the house. One just died — "

"_Papa!_" screamed Richard. "_Mama!_"

Clarisse and Bolvar dashed into the house. Smoke clouded his vision and scorched his nostrils. In the main room he made out Carlos Hackett's figure fending off an attacker, another lying dead at his feet. Clarisse jumped to his assistance. Bolvar heard the coughing and spluttering of the night elf behind him. "That way," she rasped. "Down the corridor — "

The fire was thickest in the bedroom. The corpses of two vigilantes lay on the ground. A woman lay slumped over them, her face obscured by her hair.

Bolvar hoisted her onto his shoulder. She didn't move, not even as they fled. Clarisse dragged out a half-conscious Carlos Hackett. They fled into the trees. Richard, standing beside the dwarven priest, burst into tears as Bolvar lay Mrs Hackett across the ground.

Her dark hair pooled behind her head. A bandage covered one eye. A cut on her cheek bled.

The priest knelt by each one. "Smoke inhalation," he said as he passed golden hands over Carlos's chest. "Can't afford to risk the old fashioned way, I'm afraid. How's she — _holy hell_. That resemblance is insane."

"If she was a dragon, she'd have transformed by now," said Bolvar as the dwarf knelt over Mrs Hackett. Carlos struggled to sit and grunted. Richard threw his arms around him. "I'm surprised you got vigilantes. Not guards?"

"There's a reward out for killing dragonkin," Carlos's voice sounded hoarse. "As for your fucking guards, they've got so few they can't afford to go chasing off whenever someone tells them about a wrongdoing. Why do you think there's a reward out in the first place? Isn't it about fucking time you fixed that? Not that I'm complaining, but…"

"It takes time." Bolvar glared. He looked to the dwarf. "What's wrong with her face?"

"Her eye's badly infected." The dwarf cut through the bandage over her eye. "It's a miracle she hasn't _died_ already. Why didn't they get a priest?"

"It would've been signing our death warrants," Carlos snarled, struggling to remain upright. "_Look at her_, idiot! It only took one person to see her to bring them all running! Nobody would have healed her, they'd have killed us all, _and_ Richard!"

"Will she be okay?" Richard's eyes overflowed. "She never did anything wrong! Please, she's not the dragon, she — "

"It's alright," said the night elf. "We shan't let anything happen to her."

"Like hell." Carlos slumped to the ground at last. "Don't you dare…"

"When I first met you, I thought you got Katrana Prestor's name wrong," said Bolvar. "But you didn't, did you? You thought she was Katrina, your wife. The last real Prestor, right? You thought they were long lost twins, you wanted to reunite them, but… but you didn't tell Onyxia about Katrina. Why not?"

"I wanted Reenie's permission before I told Lady Prestor about her." Carlos touched his wife's arm. "But she didn't give it. She was terrified. Stopped going out as much, and when she saw you in the Trade District that one time, she started covering her face when she did. It was a while before she even told me what Lady Prestor truly _was_."

"And you're sure this is Katrina? Not the real Katrana?"

"Yes."

"What happened to the Prestors?"

"That's not my story to tell." Carlos's eyes flickered worriedly to his wife. The dwarf cleaned out the eye. Bolvar glimpsed pus and gore. "The other day a few people saw her through the trees when she was having some sun, got her in the eye, but one escaped… I'd been pressuring her to get out and have some fresh air for weeks, she'd become so scared… and look what I brought upon us. She's so sick now…"

"We can't treat her here," said the dwarf. "When I've cleaned this we'll take you all to the guild hall. Leo and everyone else are still chasing after the real Onyxia, if she's not dead already."

"If she is, they could portal back any hour from now," said the night elf. "It's too risky for her, Leo won't believe us, he'd think it was another trick."

"We were going to go to Southshore," said Richard. "If she got better."

"When she got better," said Carlos.

Richard shook his head.

"She needs shelter," said the dwarf. "I need equipment."

"Rudolphus's place has been empty since he died," said Clarisse.

"Who?"

"Leo's father. It's his now, but he hasn't used it for anything. I think that's the only place we can take them."

"Then let's go."

-o-O-o-

That afternoon when Bolvar stopped by, Carlos hovered inside the door. His arms were crossed and his foot tapped the ground. "We can't stay here. It's not safe. Is that dragon dead yet?"

"No." Bolvar closed the door behind him. "I'd feel it if she was. I can still feel her heartbeat…"

Carlos rose an eyebrow.

"It's a long story." Bolvar found the dwarf priest in the living room, smoothing out the skirt of his robes as he sat on a chair too big for him. Richard perched on the chair next to his. "How is she?"

"Recovering," said the dwarf. "She'll live, now I've attended to her, but I had to remove what was left of the eye. She's resting right now. Won't come out, and she's too afraid to go near the windows. It's dangerous for her to be here but there's no better place."

"How are we going to leave?" said Carlos. "We lost _everything_. We were almost ready to go to Southshore, it's far enough away they won't know Prestor's face there. It's a long journey, and going with little combat experience would be bad enough…"

"How did you manage to hide for as long as you did?" Bolvar glanced at him. "If I didn't come when I did, if I'd even delayed an hour, you'd all be dead…"

Richard whimpered. Carlos put his hand on the back of Richard's chair. "Don't get me wrong, Highlord. We were very lucky you came when you did, and that you know who she is, though when I saw you charge in I was sure we were going to be hanged."

"No," said Bolvar. "Did Clarisse show you the family tree before she left?"

"Yes," said Carlos. "She did. Reenie's had a look, too."

"Reenie?"

"Katrina."

"I think I met her once." Bolvar tugged at his sleeve. "Last year I took Anduin to the Trade District to buy presents for Winter's Veil… Lady Prestor had said she was working and did not accompany us. I was buying her present that day." The music box still sat on her bedside table. Bolvar hadn't been able to bring himself to touch it. "The nanny had just ran off to get something for Anduin… I thought I saw Katrana opposite the square." He remembered her now, her hair in a ponytail, wearing a simple blouse as she frowned, standing by a wall. "I'd never seen her wear pants before. I forgot about it soon enough, didn't think to ask her why she'd come out after all…"

"Yes," said Carlos. "Katrina told me about that."

"She didn't look at me, though."

"Not directly. There were sales on that day, remember? She mentioned one of the stalls had a large mirror beside it, saw you looking at her."

"A _mirror_?"

"She was that paranoid. She'd always thought she was safe in the Trade District and she'd never associated with the workers on the farm to begin with… she didn't recognise you, we weren't familiar with politicians. But she was familiar enough to know that if a stranger recognised her, she was in trouble." He shook his head. "She lived a paranoid life after that. She'd always been fearful it would all catch up to her, but after that… sometimes she spent nights in her shop. Tended to make assistants take care of customers for her. For so long I'd been asking to introduce her to Lady Prestor, but she'd refused until it all came spilling out not long after…" He squeezed Richard's shoulder. "Of course, stickybeak here eavesdropped. I'm sure he must have felt terrified when he realised he'd met a dragon."

"It explains why she was _really, really angry_," said Richard. Then sheepishly said, "Uh, besides the fact I beat up the prince. Sorry."

Carlos sighed.

Bolvar gazed at Richard. When they'd first met… "I thought you'd looked like Katrana Prestor, but I didn't think anything of it."

"Lucky for Mama," said Richard.

"I gave her the Dragonbane when she woke up this morning," said the dwarf. "No reaction. She's real."

"At least Onyxia didn't tamper with it." Bolvar drummed his fingers on the back of the dwarf's chair. "Although it took a few days before we obtained a whelp to test the mixture on to be sure after Jettion flew off… and with my correspondance, too…"

It was no coincidence Jettion stole it. Who had it now? Nalice? Bronzewing? Samantha? Onyxia herself?

"Can I see her?" Bolvar looked to the dwarf. Carlos froze immediately. Richard blanched. "I want to ask her some things about House Prestor, then I'll leave you all be. I'll even help you get to Southshore… start a new life. You deserve it. Especially after what she must have lived through all these years…"

"I'm coming too." Richard pushed himself off his chair, lifting his chin.

"I'd rather be present as well, Highlord," said Carlos. "No disrespect intended."

"I'll be out here, making tea," said the dwarf. "She's the last door down the hall."

Bolvar hesitated by the door, but Richard had no such qualms. Without knocking he twisted the handle open. "Mum!" As he trotted inside, Bolvar heard the rustling of sheets.

Carlos frowned at him.

Bolvar shrugged a shoulder and followed.

He peered into the dim room. Dark curtains covered the only window, and the room smelt dusty. Richard clung to a figure on the bed, who murmured softly to him. As Bolvar's eyes adjusted, he watched her pull back from him, ruffle his hair, before a single grey eye focused on him.

She went still.

So did he.

The night before, he'd barely noticed her face in the darkness. She'd been just another dark-haired woman. She had the same sharp features, so similar they were identical, the same colour eyes, even the same slight widow's peak at the top of her face.

Her face was pale, but not as much as Prestor's had been. Her hair was shorter inched past her shoulders rather than sweeping to mid-back.

She touched the bandage across her eye. "I'm going to have to wear an eyepatch." He flinched at the voice, the _same_, and yet… he'd never heard Katrana Prestor so timid and quiet in his life. He barely made out her words. "I'm not just going to be a dragon, I'm going to be a pirate dragon. Richie ought to be amused by that."

"Ha ha," said Richard, before he clung to his mother again.

So many times before Bolvar had been peered at by Katrana Prestor, often with suspicion, never with fear. Reenie's unblinking eye continued to stare at him as he sat on the end of the bed. "Have I met you before?" said Bolvar. "I mean, when we were young. At Lordaeron, was that you who decked Varian Wrynn?"

Reenie's mouth flickered in the faintest of familiar smirks, before it vanished. "I never set foot in Lordaeron. That wouldn't have been me or Kitty."

Bolvar blinked. Carlos hovered by the door. When Reenie caught sight of him, she smiled in a way Katrana Prestor never did. It took Bolvar's breath away.

"They did something in Lordaeron, then," said Bolvar. "Maybe Onyxia even posed as your father… but then who would have posed as his daughter? Was she kidnapped? And I assume 'Kitty' is Kat?"

"Yes." Reenie touched her bandage again. "We were named Kat and Rina. It evolved to Kitty and Reenie over time, though I still often get called Katrina. A bit of a tribute to Kitty, you see. Our proper names were so similar as to be confusing, after all."

"What happened to her?" said Bolvar. "What happened to Kitty?"

"It's a bit of a story." When Reenie sat up straighter, adjusting the covers, Carlos moved to sit beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. With Reenie's gaze lowering and Richard clutching his mother's hand, Bolvar felt like a Scarlet Crusade interrogator.

"I want to hear," said Bolvar. "If you would tell me. I need to know she's alright. But she's not, is she?"

"No." He had to strain to hear Reenie's voice. "We are related to the Perenoldes, the reigning monarchs of Alterac. I expect that the... _other_ Prestors, as I got used to calling them, wanted to use that to their advantage. It was a solid background." She brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. So dark, so silken, just like _hers_… "My great-great grandmother was the bastard daughter of a Perenolde, and she married a farmer. I was born on that farm, along with my elder brother Richard and Kitty." Her eye gazed into space. "Richie's named after him."

She frowned, still not meeting Bolvar's eyes, as Carlos stroked her hair. The dwarf came in at that moment, setting down a cup of tea on her beside table, which she received with a trembling smile. Bolvar smelled ginger, and found himself reminded of the night in Stormwind Keep where the candles flickered against the walls, and a kitchen that looked abandoned and deserted until you opened the cupboards as he made tea for a pregnant… _dragon_.

"One night Kitty and I were in bed when we heard intruders outside," said Reenie. "They spoke a language we didn't recognise. I was young enough to think they were orcs, though Richard said they didn't sound like…"

As she trailed off, Carlos squeezed her shoulder. She stared into her mug.

"Papa ran in, told us to hide under our beds, and ran out again with a sword." Reenie's eyes unfocused, watching a scene that happened... how long ago? How old had Kat — _Kitty_ — been? She'd been seven in Lordaeron… "But Kitty didn't listen. She picked up one of his other swords and ran after him. Richard chased her, trying to bring her back. Richard was…" she ruffled her son's hair again. "Younger than this boy is right now. He'd been ten."

She heaved a deep sigh. Bolvar longed to touch her, to comfort her, to take the sad expression from her face. Instead, Carlos stroked the back of her hand. "I heard Kitty scream, but that was it. It went quiet. I thought I heard the attackers go away. They hadn't set fire to our house or stolen anything, from what I heard, they just _left_...

"I wanted to be brave, like Kitty and Richard, so even though I shook like a leaf I crept out after them." She rubbed the heel of her hand against her forehead. "In the distance I saw these creatures. They were like centaurs, only they were covered in scales and had crocolisk heads instead of human heads."

"Dragonspawn," Bolvar murmured.

"Yes." Reenie's voice became more high-pitched. Never before had Bolvar seen such a stricken look on Katrana's face. "I saw my father there. He was bent over a few bodies, just kneeling there. I saw Kitty's and Richard's… I didn't see the other one, didn't see who else had died." She swallowed. "I remember this stench of burning metal. He cut off one of Kitty's plaits." Her hand began to shake. Carlos clasped it in his own. "When I called my father he turned to look at me and... He'd never looked at me before like that. The way he glared at me was terrifying. I ran back in, then. I hid back under my bed until dawn when my mother finally ventured out, found them, and went for help..."

She bit her lip. "They found my siblings' bodies. And my father's. My father's was the one I hadn't been able to see in the dark, the one right next to his children, and yet I'd _seen_ him standing there.

"I told everyone what I'd seen, but they didn't believe me, they just thought whatever had attacked us had taken one of Kitty's plaits as a trophy and fled, and said it was lucky they didn't take her head." She shook her head. "After that, I didn't tell anyone for a long time, couldn't figure out what happened. Carlos knew I had a twin sister who died, an older brother we named our little one after, and when he ran across that _beast_ in the Trade District, he thought he could reunite us, and it was a while before I told him the truth. He was the first person who believed me."

Dead. His Kat was _dead_. Had been all along, because of those dreadful Black dragons…

They'd killed _children_. Human children weren't whelps; they couldn't defend themselves.

Reenie sighed. "My mother and I left for Stormwind not long after. From time to time, we heard whispers of a Lord Daval Prestor, but my mother thought nothing of it, thinking that perhaps the name was used often in my father's family and that part of it had reunited with the nobility. I think she was just in denial. She died without remarrying. When I heard of a Katrana Prestor in Stormwind... I knew that the monster that had killed my father and sister was alive and well. I knew it was in there, but I dared not say a word. Not to the nobility, not when I had a new husband and a child on the way."

"Just how old was Kitty when she died?" said Bolvar. _Did I ever meet her?_

Reenie looked up at him, her eyes rimmed with red. "Five," she said. "We were only five years old."

-o-O-o-

He'd never known Katrana Prestor. Not even in the beginning had he known her. All he'd known was an oversized lizard crammed into the body of a dead child.

-o-O-o-

Onyxia circled in the overcast sky and probed the black marsh below with her eyes. Had she miscalculated? She couldn't have... She had aligned the surrounding mountains the way she remembered, the landing lights should be nearby... There were distant flames, yes, but those were marshlights… Why weren't they on?

Landing in the darkness would be impossible. The clouds shrouded the moon and stars, leaving nothing to guide her way. She let out a burst of flame, briefly illuminating deadly, clawed branches, but not nearly well enough.

A memory of her brother's dead brood flashed across her eyes.

For long moments she circled above the trees, listening as sound bounced back to her ears. When she heard a gap in the trees, she lowered herself carefully through. One wing clipped a tree, sending a spike of pain through her.

There. Easier than it could have been. She shrank in size, her injury shifting into a large graze across her back. Suddenly Nalice's stupidity the month before didn't seem so unwise…

She kicked off the silken palace shoes she'd worn in the throne room and ran.

The sound of her crashing through the undergrowth bounced back at her, warning her of looming trees and hills better than memory in Dustwallow's pitch darkness. She took the still air in through her nostrils. Where were the sounds of patrolling dragonkin? Where were her young?

Bouncing sound warned her of something in her path before she tripped over it. She clicked, listening with her keen ears. The wind picked up and stirred a familiar stench…

Her heart felt as if it stuttered in her chest. Her blood ran cold.

_No!_ _They can't — how did they —_

Not that smell. A hallucination, surely? Brought on by fear and the development of post traumatic stress? The humans had studied this, after all — it wasn't a body in front of her. The Brood would have burnt it!

_Unless they couldn't…_

When she ran into the clearing near the wyrmbog, she tripped over a corpse. Its scales were gone, stripped from it like clothing off a bandit's victim. Its brothers and sisters lay around her, robbed of their pride. The Wyrmbog's jaws lay open ahead of her — _why are they open? How did they open it?_

No. No. _No!_

She stepped over the still forms of her beloved dragonspawn, her _tribe_. She'd seen their grandparents hatch, watched their great-great-great grandparents find mates. She'd known these dragonspawn's ancestors intimately and by name, had watched them grow up…

They were as good as her _children_...

She dashed into her cave. She hopped over still Scalebanes, twisted her body around the corner, running faster and faster —

Her worst nightmare awaited.

The stone felt hot underneath the soles of her feet. The smell clouded her. It had to be a nightmare, she'd never left Blackrock, it was all a dream, a hallucination. She stood in the halls with death and destruction around her, with her brother's children littering the…

_Her children_ littering the ground…

This wasn't Blackrock. It wasn't a dream.

Her children lay scattered across the cavern like a massacred flock of birds. Arrows jutted from some of their tiny bodies, others burned with magefire, some slit from end to end by blades as other wounds bubbled with poison that ate through their scales…

In the centre lay Ebonaria, as still and bloody as Romathis had been.

In silence, Onyxia picked her way through the bodies of her children. She knelt by each one, listening for tiny breaths, but the hush went unbroken. Still she knelt, still she listened. More and more, the hope within her shrank.

_You said you were going to save us, Bronze…_

She laid a hand on her eldest daughter's snout. Jagged wounds marred it, congealed with dried blood. When she pressed her forehead to it, Onyxia's vision swam. Something wet trailed down her cheek.

She felt fine. Didn't she? She didn't feel anything right now. Couldn't.

… Why didn't the tears stop? She was _fine_! Death… death happened to the… to the weak. The Titans purged the weak so that the strong may… the strong could…

Her hands clenched and shook. Her throat made an unnatural sound. She clamped her jaws shut, screwed her eyes tight, clutched Ebon's jaw.

She had destroyed her Flight.

She remembered Bolvar's smiling face, with his chocolate hair. Little Sabelia, with green, blinking eyes. What were two mortals compared to the lives of hundreds of dragonkin? She'd thought the Bronze brutal to sacrifice Sam's daughter, and now…

_Where does it stop? How many more will die? Is there even anyone left to?_

Then she heard them.

Footsteps and distant whispers reached her ears. Onyxia pressed a kiss to Ebon's forehead and stepped back.

The Brotherhood spread out around both walls, bleary eyed and blinking, all wearing the scales of her Flight. There were even more now than had been present in the throne room of Stormwind. How many? Four dozen? Five dozen? More? She saw bandages, deep gashes on their faces, and some had lost eyes or entire noses. Her beloved children had not gone down without a fight…

Onyxia thought she knew anger. She was used to the heat of fury, the liquid magma of rage that took her limbs with a fever and had her lash out in blindness, leaving her shaking for hours.

This coldness was foreign, a sinister stillness that settled within her, steadier than any stone, deadlier than any snake.

Motes of ash hung in the air. Chainmail jingled. She smelt the scent of sweat, felt heat turn to ice as it touched her skin. Leonardo Withering stepped from the crowd, his determined eyes meeting her.

_I thought I was your king piece, Bronze. But I was only a pawn all along…_

So be it.

"How fortuitous." Her voice was but a cold murmur, the calm before a storm of destruction, but the cavern blew her voice loud and echoed it in the ears of all the mortals who surrounded her. "Usually I must leave my lair in order to feed..."

-o-O-o-

Bolvar woke in the middle of the night. When he walked to the crib, Saya was fast asleep.

Then what had woken him?

He rubbed his temples. Perhaps he'd dreamed of something. These days he marched through life like a sleep deprived soldier. He barely remembered even the most consistent of nightmares.

He sank back into the bed, but something niggled at him like an itch underneath his skin. He felt… hungry? No, not hunger. An emptiness inside him, an odd quietness that sank into his bones. A void that yearned to be filled. A stillness itching for movement.

He held his breath. Even the wind had gone still outside. He searched his consciousness, watched for the vibrating constance of her heartbeat, for the faraway presence he'd felt for far too long…

But there was nothing there.

**END OF PART ONE**


	42. INTERLUDE I: World of Warcraft

_**A/N:** There will be four interludes, one for each game/expansion pack. Just a note - I'm following game-time, which means each expansion pack takes about two years before the events of the next one takes place._

_The first chapter of part two will go up on **Jan 15**ish, and will be uploaded as part of this story._

_Also, TOD is now on AO3!_

_Thanks to **Coincidencless** for proof reading and concrit!_

* * *

**Interlude I**

**World of Warcraft**

_**An Inkling**_

* * *

In the Hall of Explorers in Ironforge, the dwarves had the skull of Tyranastrasz on display.

The great wyrm's jaws stretched as high as a two-story building, and the head and snout combined were even longer. As part of the demonstration of a tour, a dwarf had a night elf step into the skull. The elf stretched up his arms, but couldn't touch so much as a tooth.

Every time Sam stepped through on her way to the library, a hood over her head and her backpack wriggling on her back, she glanced at the skull and thought of the tiny whelp in her backpack, small enough to fit on her shoulder. Allegedly, Onyxia had been small enough to stretch her wings out in the throne room. For a ten-thousand-year-old dragon, she wasn't very impressive. "She told me she was a runt of a whelpling who would've been purged if she was born fifty years later," Sam told her backpack. "Let's face it, you're doomed to be a runt."

Her backpack cooed unhappily.

As she did every afternoon, once in the library she retreated to a distant corner and placed her backpack under the table. She kept it between her ankles as she read during the afternoon. "The answer has something to do with Outland, I'm sure of it," she murmured, and bit back a sigh as she heard rustling, and felt something heavy claw its way up her leg. "Jet, if you get caught in here... they don't like animals."

She heard a low hiss. Jettion rarely spoke. He didn't need to.

"No, you're not one," she agreed. "But tell that to the dwarves. See, look at thi — no, don't look at this, stay under the table. This is called _The Old Gods and the Ordering of Azeroth._ How about I read it to you?"

Jettion gave a low trill that she took to mean, 'yes'. Sam licked her dry lips.

"_Unaware of Sargeras' mission to undo their countless works, the Titans continued to move from world to world, shaping and ordering each planet as they saw fit. Along their journey they happened upon a small world that its inhabitants would later name Azeroth._

"_As the Titans made their way across the primordial landscape, they encountered a number of hostile elemental beings. These elementals, who worshipped a race of unfathomably evil beings known only as the Old Gods, vowed to drive the Titans back and keep their world inviolate from the invaders' metallic touch._ Jet, what does 'inviolate' mean?"

The whelp grunted.

"Well, if you don't know either…" Sam shrugged. "_The Pantheon, disturbed by the Old Gods' penchant for evil — _you know, it doesn't actually point out what this evil is, but whatever_ — penchant for evil, waged war upon the elementals and their dark masters._ ... Then we have some stuff about elementals. Oh hey, Ragnaros is here. The Brotherhood of Cinders took him down, but they didn't lose most of their guild doing that. Then again, I hear he wasn't at his full strength?"

Jettion nudged her with his snout.

"Sorry," said Sam. "Um, after the elementals were defeated... _The Pantheon shattered the Old Gods' citadels and chained the five evil gods far beneath the surface of the world._ Five, then? I know that the guild that's… what are they called? The Frostmoon Federation? That guild's going after the Quiraji once the war effort in Silithus culminates, after what happened to the Brotherhood." Sam tapped a finger on the page. "Rumour has it there's an Old God called C'thun involved there... but that's only one, you know. We don't even know if one is responsible for your race's corruption, or all five."

Jettion cooed sadly.

"Let the Federation take care of it," said Sam. "What I want to do is... Where's that letter? Oh, thanks."

The letter had been folded and refolded multiple times, with delicate teethmarks marring the seal on the back. "You know," Sam murmured to Jettion. "That night Onyx came to talk to me after Mandy died? Before I went to bed she mentioned that Nalice had told her the demons had scattered... but if this letter is correct, they didn't. Nalice lied. Why?" Sam ran a hand through her hair, gazing at the broken seal of Nethergarde on the envelope. "Between the silithid to the west, Naxxramas, and what may be a demon invasion on the horizon, it doesn't look good, does it? Poor Wrynn, he's been trapped in a hole underneath an island for over a year, he finally comes back and he has all this shit to deal with. Poor bastard."

Hell. Poor _Leo_. It wasn't often that Sam felt sorry for the Brotherhood of Cinders, but losing the opportunity to rescue the king to the Frostmoon Federation must have _hurt_.

"At least the Federation was there at all," Sam muttered. "After the Brotherhood's loss, if there wasn't another guild ready, Wrynn would've hung around there a lot longer."

She gazed at the letter. "You know, Jet. Your uncle may have carked it but I think if there are any survivors, they'd be the key. What would have happened to the shreds of the Flight left on Outland, free from Old God influence? That's what I want to find out." She steepled her fingers in thought. "It may really be as simple as moving what's left of the Flight on Azeroth to Outland, to a kind of promised land. There has to be _somewhere_ on that place that isn't overrun with demons, especially once the mercs clear it out... 'cause let's face it, if the Dark Portal opens the mercs'll be all over it once the silithid are dealt with."

Would it open for sure? The letter to the Keep that Jettion had brought her made it look likely, but was it certain?

At the entrance to the library Sam heard hushed voices. She glanced up without moving her head, catching sight of a pair of night elves with tabards hanging over their bodies. One caught Sam's eye, and his eyes darted away.

"Get in the bag, Jet," she murmured. A rustling and the disappearing weight from her lap told her the whelp obeyed. She quietly closed the book in front of her. "How about we go home early, eh?"

Her bag didn't answer as she swung it onto her back.

She kept her hood down and her cloak around her as she stepped through the gallery beyond, too conscious of the night elves' stares on her back. Many thought wanted criminals kept to the dark alleys of society; they were only partly right. The safest place to be was in public, where unconfident bounty hunters were less likely to cause fuss for fear of attracting the wrong attention, where her face blended into the crowd.

Unfortunately, some bounty hunting mercs knew this.

The road through the Forlorn Cavern to the Mystic Ward swarmed with mortals. As Sam stepped past it the dark, winding caves beyond betrayed only silence. The road through the Forlorn Cavern was just that; a road. Here lived Ironforge's underworld.

As she spotted a familiar house she navigated the steps without stumbling as she usually did. The railing was too short to be of much help. After two months in Ironforge, Sam had grown used to steps so small they were liabilities for anyone taller than a dwarf. She picked the lock of the boarded up door at the top, and stepped inside into a blessedly cool room.

"Well, if it ain't Samia Inkling!" said a voice inside. "Get in here."

"Hey, Durtham." If one ignored the blocked doors and windows outside and the dim lighting, the house looked completely ordinary from the inside. Sam ducked underneath a doorway, fiddling with a deep pocket inside her cloak. She pulled out a satchel and threw it to a table in the corner, where a dwarven rogue waited. "That's your cut for the week."

The Forlorn Filchers were the closest things to a thieves' guild Ironforge had. They weren't even registered as a guild, but since the rise of mercs the less moral population in Ironforge clustered together to survive. Durtham bailed out anyone who paid their dues if they ended up in prison, or bribed guards and judges, or connected professional thieves with potential clients.

It was little use to Sam; no amount of bribery could get _her_ out of trouble. She'd taken on a new, if similar name, to avoid being hauled back to Stormwind by her newly-cut hair. Still, she needed shelter and a place to sleep at a place where nobody asked questions, and the thieves Durtham took in looked after their own without being nosy. They all had dark secrets of their own, after all.

"A nice amount today," said Durtham. "You're home early."

"I thought a couple of mercs recognised me so I came back."

"Did they follow you?"

"I didn't see anyone when I came in."

Durtham frowned. "Be more careful next time, I can't fix everyone's mistakes. I need you to head out again, Inkling."

"I'm sure that nobody saw me come in — "

"No. I have a job for you."

Sam blinked, straightening. She bumped her head on the ceiling with a curse. "I'm just a pickpocket, I don't _do_ professional thievery — "

"It's an escort job," said Durtham. "With someone you know. They specifically asked for you, anyway. I didn't know you knew Saxan."

"… _Who?_"

"Or not, maybe he knows someone _you_ know," Durtham shrugged. "He's outside Ironforge. Got a bit of a disability; a really bad leg. Don't ask me why, but he doesn't want to come in without someone watching his back, and I've seen you spar with the others. You're pretty damn good for your age. He'll pay you well. He also hinted he has another job or you."

"So I have to go alone?"

"Yeah, more money for you that way."

Sam eyed Durtham. Only last month he'd discovered he had a wanted murderer in his midst and 'accidentally' set that person up to be discovered to protect the rest of the Filchers. Had he found out who she was? "I don't know a Saxan. And he can't have asked for me specifically, I use a fake name like everyone else does."

"He asked for a girl of your description," said Durtham. "I said, 'Yeah, I know her.' He knows you." He narrowed his eyes. "Unless you got somethin' to fear from me? What have you done that you think I'd stab you in the back, girlie?"

"Not you," said Sam hurriedly. "Him, maybe. I don't know anyone called Saxan. Or anyone by that description."

"We go way back, I trust 'im," Durtham settled back in his chair. "He used to make poisons for rogues back in Lordaeron. Especially the hard-to-get ones."

"Why didn't you escort him?"

"He wrote me. Stop bein' so suspicious and take it or not. I'll have to write 'im if you don't. He's an old guy though, and he's definitely not faking the limp, he said he's had it since he was young and he sure as hell had it twenty years ago."

"How old?"

"Ehhh, sixties or somethin'? He's up a twisted path near the entrance to Ironforge, a fair way up the mountain. Sometimes I hear he lurks at the bottom of it, so you might not even have to hike."

Whew. So it definitely wasn't Norris, but... who? Puzzled, Sam headed out the door, adjusting the pack on her back. It was worth having a look at the very least; better to check for an ambush _now_ and get away rather than be dragged kicking and screaming from her bed in the middle of the night if she didn't know what to look for. The whelp buried himself deeper down, and she felt him moving against her back. "You better not have pooped in there," she said.

Halfway up the road to the main street in the Forlorn Cavern, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and all thoughts of the stranger who called himself Saxan disappeared. Inside her pack, Jettion had gone completely still.

Sam slipped her weapons from her belt, knuckles white. Her eyes strained in the darkness. The shadows were still, but that did not mean nothing was there...

Two night elves leapt from the darkness on either side of her. Her pack shrieked as she shrugged it off her shoulders, rolling forwards and out of the way before she whipped around, just in time to raise her daggers to parry a blow from the rogue.

Then she caught sight of the massive war hammer the warrior carried, and blanched.

A quick cut to the waist deposed the rogue, stupid enough to wear a leather top that exposed her midriff, and Sam jumped out of the way of the hammer. As the heavy weapon swung aside, Sam took advantage of the opening and sliced at the night elf's arm. The warrior snarled in pain.

Sam grabbed her pack and ran. She swung it onto her shoulder before she sheathed her stained weapons, and dashed onto the main street of the Forlorn Caverns, pulling her hood back over her face. It wouldn't be safe to return to that building for some time if they'd followed her from the Hall of Explorers, but leaving them dead would have been worse...

_How much worse?_ she thought, and grit her jaw. She was a traitor, would having the blood of two bounty hunters on her hands even _make_ things worse? Murder wasn't as bad as treason in the law's eyes, she'd be hung either way!

_You think I'd have learned not to hesitate over killing people when I got the Black Dragonflight massacred._

Leaving them alive had been a stupid move, but it wasn't as if she hadn't made plenty of those before. "They just want the money," she murmured, slowing down. The pack on her back began moving again. "They might have a sick relative, or they want to feed someone, it's not like they live in a vacuum. They have loved ones, people waiting for their return... they might really need that money. I didn't kill them, just injured them..." The image of the warrior's bloodied arm appeared in her head. "Oh, gods, Jet, what if I severed a tendon or something?"

Her bag snuffled.

Someone passing her grabbed her arm.

Sam clamped her jaw shut as someone hauled her from the main road. Screaming and attracting guards would make her problem worse; but Jettion burst from her pack and snapped and snarled at her attacker.

"Bloody hell, Sam, call your pet off!"

As she fell to the floor of an alley, Sam caught sight of a man covering his face with his arms as Jettion snarled and raked at him with his claws.

"Leo?" said Sam.

"Sam, bloody hell!"

"Jet, stop," said Sam. "If he starts attacking me you can kill him, though."

"Bloody nice of you," Leo snarled. Jettion stopped, hovering by Sam's side. "I should've known you'd have a little pet."

"He's not my pet," said Sam. As Leo dropped his arms, Sam stared at his face. "What happened? ... Oh."

"Yes," said Leo, glowering at her. The eye on the burnt side of his face watered, the skin red, mottled and scarred. "Your _friend_ happened. Nefarian had been much easier to take down, I assure you. The shadowflame was a pain, but even then our draconic armour protected us. With _Onyxia_, we underestimated the power of an angry mother."

A lump rose in Sam's throat. "She's definitely dead, then."

"Dead as a doornail." As Leo spoke, the crowds outside the alley moved on, and the guilt swelled in Sam's chest. "They hung her head up on the arches _weeks_ ago, have you been living under a rock?"

"Where do you think Ironforge _is_, idiot? If you're here to take me in —"

"I'm not, damn it," said Leo, before he glanced to Jettion. "Bolvar called what he was giving you a chance, but I'm not so sure. You're blood, and I'm here to give you a _real_ chance."

"You must think I'm an idiot."

"Bloody hell, you're as paranoid as Onyxia was when she was a politician." But Leo frowned thoughtfully. "I don't blame you. That bounty's _huge_."

"I just had to deal with a couple of bounty hunters. Once I've finished a job I'll have to be on the road again."

"A job?"

"Some old man wants an escort in. If _he's_ not a trap. Asked for me specifically."

"Please tell me you used a false name."

"So you _do_ think I'm an idiot. This Saxan person asked for me specifically, yes, but by description. Said he knew me. Never met him before in my life."

"Saxan, huh? Describe him for me."

"Old guy with a limp who doesn't like crowds, apparently, because he wants an escort for _whatever_ reason. I'm guessing it's 'cause of the limp. Ironforge isn't _that_ cut throat…" All the more reason not to check it out. A look at him couldn't hurt, but at this point Sam doubted she'd approach him at all.

"Wait," said Leo. "Do you know if he's ever been in Lordaeron?"

"Yeah, used to make poisons."

"Hey, I know that guy!" Leo brightened, dragging Sam out of the alley by the collar with Jettion fluttering behind them. "Our father used to get this baron to make poisons for him. Said Saxan Sablemane was the best damn alchemist he'd ever met. There aren't many poisons that are illegal these days, but Sablemane made 'em all."

Wait. What? "Sablemane?"

Oh, fuck. _Nalice_. She wouldn't be able to set foot in any capital city without bringing hunters running, but there was no reason she couldn't use her father's disguise and connections, even aging it up enough so his mortal contacts wouldn't be suspicious...

"Yeah," said Leo with a grin. "Tell you what, I'll come with you. I'm pretty sure Sablemane's safe, even our father trusted him with his life, and that's saying something. Where is he?"

"Outside the gates. And, um, wait, are you sure anyone who your _father_ trusted would be safe?"

"Sablemane made his poisons," said Leo, "but Dad constantly bitched Saxan was too much of a pacifist."

"Tell you what, this probably _isn't_ a good idea..." If Sam hoped to even have a _chance_ of living long enough to make it to Outland, she'd have to avoid Nalice like the plague! She'd die the moment Nalice found her!

"C'mon," said Leo. "I need to meet him, see if I can recruit him."

"Recruit a man with a limp?"

"What, you assume we don't have work for people who can't run around?"

"I thought guilds were full of people _all_ running around —"

"We need crafters, alchemists, leatherworkers, administrators. Everything we can get right now, ever since Onyxia crippled us and the Frostmoon Federation took advantage." Leo scowled as he led Sam by the arm.

"Please let me go — "

"No, I'm not letting you out of my sight," said Leo. "Run off and I'm telling the guards who you are. Listen. I don't blame you for what you did. You were a single mother with a dying child, you were desperate, and gods know nobody else helped you even when I should have. After Mandy died you wouldn't have been able to think straight. All you would have had were the dragons. You're young, Sam, you're not even twenty yet. After what Norris did, it's no wonder they were able to manipulate you. You're a good person though, Sam, I know it. You didn't kill Reggie, you helped save Stormwind in the end at great risk to your own life, and this bounty was a pretty shitty way to repay you."

"I didn't see you speak up for me! Funny how you've got a good track record for helping me out."

"There was no use talking sense into Bolvar," said Leo. "He'd just found out the woman he loved, the mother of his child, was a beast who almost tore Stormwind apart. I'm confident once he's calmed down — "

_"Once he's calmed down?"_

" — that I can talk some sense into him. You'd be not only the youngest person to ever be branded a traitor to the Kingdom of Stormwind, but the first one to get it recanted, too."

"What about Varian Wrynn?" said Sam. As dwarves they walked past cast them glances, she lowered her head and her voice. "The bounty was '_only_' a thousand until Wrynn came back and found out!"

"Hmm." Leo pressed his lips together. "That may prove difficult. He's not the person he used to be, his captivity at Alcaz Island really scarred the man... they used to make him fight naga. They'd almost sold him off to the orcs by the time the damned Federation got in there. I'll handle it, I'll convince Bolvar, then Mathias Shaw... their opinions combined'll put some pressure on Wrynn, too. Even if Wrynn decides not to, having Shaw on your side is as good as no bounty at all. You'd be surprised what his men get away with..."

There was no good having the bounty on her head removed if Nalice bit it off! "You know, we shouldn't see Sablemane," said Sam hurriedly as they continued to move south. Shit, if only there weren't guards everywhere, if only she could be guaranteed to get away from Leo — "He's probably not as nice as you remember."

Leo burst into laughter. "Sablemane? _Nice?_ Where the heck did you hear that, I thought you didn't know him?"

Onyxia had spoken of him. That night she'd comforted Sam for the loss of Mandy, Sam had heard so much about Sabellian and his wisdom... "Durtham only mentioned a 'Saxan', not a Sablemane. I heard Sablemane's name on the streets, though. Apparently he was really kind and wise for... an alchemist. I hear he's really nasty these days. Likes to stab people. Especially mercs. He really _hates_ mercs. He'll probably stab you."

Leo's shoulders shook from laughter. "Gods, whoever told you that must have had experiences with the alchemists from _hell_ because Sablemane has never been _nice_. Wise, yeah, sure. He was smarter than the priests and had to be the only certified doctor in all of Lordaeron who'd never wielded the Light. You'd be hard pressed to get him to shut the fuck up once he started talking, though, and he was the most sarcastic son of a bitch I've ever met."

"Um." As they walked deeper into Ironforge, Sam groped for another stall. "You said you had some offer to talk to me about, why don't we cover that first?"

"We can talk as we walk."

_Hey, Sablemane's a dragon and his really pissed off daughter is disguised as him and will probably kill us both!_ Sam almost said, then reconsidered. If Nalice found out Sam'd blown both her _and_ her father's cover...

Her chances were tiny _now_, but definitely nonexistant if she did _that_! "Alright. What is it?"

"Onyxia almost annihilated us," said Leo. "Maybe you heard."

"I heard the death toll was huge, but I didn't know if it was true. I didn't know for sure Onyxia was dead, remember?"

"While we waited for her return, we killed the whelps in the Wyrmbog." Leo didn't seem to notice Jettion give a low hiss and land on Sam's pack, claws digging into the material. "We didn't want them to give us trouble when we fought her, because there were dozens of eggs... that might've been a bad idea, though. She saw them all there, dead, and went into one heck of a rage. I brought the majority of the guild in. The only people I left were the bare minumum needed to keep it running in Stormwind, and they were a fraction of those who'd been in Blackwing Lair ... so that meant I took over fifty men and women in."

"And most of them died."

"She killed thirty five before she went down," said Leo. "Seven more died of injuries in the next few hours. No guild that has ever survived a raid on a major enemy of the Alliance has ever been so devastated. We're pulling out all the stops to give the deads' families the compensation they deserve as soon as we can. Including administration, we only had a dozen people left in the guild alive. Varian Wrynn is helping us pay the families of the fallen, but we still need to rebuild the guild if we want to even have a hope of regaining the place we were once at... though I'm not sure we ever will be."

_You deserve it_, thought Sam. "So let me guess, you took Norris back?"

Leo stared at her. "Hell no! He did approach me, he's one heck of a powerful warlock now — "

"Ha. I feel so much better."

"I wouldn't let him set foot in the guild again after what he did to you!"

"Yet you have nothing wrong with recruiting a wanted traitor."

"I've already explained why I don't hold it against you," said Leo. "You're not a bad person, Sam. You could have killed Reggie, but you didn't, so you're obviously a good person — "

"More than you are!" Sam snapped. "I hear there's more Black whelplings on the auction house than ever before, it's more than tripled! Onyxia's children, Jettion's brothers and sisters, whatever survived the massacre at Dragonmurk — "

"_Massacre_?"

"Not to mention, you've barely got any loyalty to speak of if you want to recruit someone wanted for _treason_!"

"Sam, you're coming with me no matter how damn rude you are to me, I'm not afraid to blackmail you for your own good. Though I wonder if it's even worth it. Are you still on their side, then? Even though you betrayed them in the end?"

"Their side?" Sam sneered. "You mean, what's left of it after you rampaged through the Steppes and Dustwallow? They would have nothing to do with me! I've lost _that_ home too, thanks. So many have died."

"Those people died to save Stormwind."

_I wasn't talking about the people._ "Onyxia died in vain to save her Flight. Everything she ever did for them _wasted_. Her children were all killed or enslaved. She only did what she did to protect them from people like _you_, people who had been infiltrating the Steppes for almost as long as I've been alive, killing the whelps, skinning them, turning them into _pets_ — "

"And I suppose she's never killed a single child, either," said Leo. "There was a real Katrana Prestor, Sam. She was _five_ when she died. And that's not counting how many people have died thanks to the Defias, the kobolds, the gnolls, the murlocs — you're lucky I even look at you. You're the stupidest idiot ever to have been born to speak to me like this, stop pushing your luck — "

Sam laughed bitterly. "_What_ luck? I'm bound to be caught sooner or later, may as well get it over with! I'm not afraid of you or anything you can do to me."

Leo's scowl faded into a soft frown as he sighed. "See where you've ended up? Borderline suicidal and hopeless. I can change that, Sam. You're lucky that — "

"I know, right?" said Sam. "How kind of you to deign to look down at me at all, even though you couldn't care less when I was on the streets."

"I didn't know you were my sister at the time!"

"So it's okay if a stranger's starving, but not your precious bloodline. Why are you so _set_ on this?"

"_Fuck you_, Sam, I'm trying to give you another chance to pick up the pieces without Norris, without Onyxia. The Brotherhood of Cinders needs everyone it can get, and you need _me_." Leo shook his head. "Everything is about to fall apart if we don't get back on the ball, and quickly. There's the war to the west with the Silithid, Naxxramas is wreaking havoc, the Dark Portal's going to open any day now and Nethergarde's fighting tooth and nail to keep their stronghold before reinforcements come."

For a moment, Sam went quiet. The Dun Morogh cold blasted them as they stepped into the mountains, mixing the snow with the heat from Ironforge to create the slushy mud that squelched under their feet. Around them, mercs dueled and fought. As they left the gates of Ironforge behind, Sam spoke again. "So the Dark Portal really _is_ opening? It's been confirmed for sure?"

"The number of demonic rituals taking place in the Blasted Lands have tripled," said Leo. "The attacks from demons have _quadrupled_. They're lashing out at once to take the entirety of the Blasted Lands, and they're attacking Stonard too. There's no other reason, they must be paving the way for something big. It's no longer a matter of _if_ it opens, but when. We need every hand we can get, Sam. And you need us. Why not help?"

Sam chewed on her lip. "Will you fight on the other side?"

"If we have enough heads and if it comes to it, we'll be establishing a presence on the other side, yes. At the very least Lana and I will go over."

"I see," said Sam, as Jettion burrowed back into her pack. "It's win/win, isn't it? Less chance of me being hauled to Stormwind, you get to keep an eye on me and make sure I don't wreak havoc on behalf of the Black Dragonflight, and you get to not feel guilty because you saved your baby sister. Does that make you feel better?"

"Infinitely. So, where's Sablemane?"

"... Up the path. Probably that one. How about you go on ahead?"

"Oh, no you _don't_, I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Um. What if I told you that — " Sam stopped in her tracks. "Oh, shit."

"What?" Leo followed her gaze. "Oh! That must be him there."

On a low stone bench, wearing the familiar orange robes that Sam had already come to hate so much, sat an old man. Nalice had aged the disguise, Sam noticed. Hair, mostly grey except for the occasional streak of black, curled behind his ears as he… _she_ looked up with a scowl directly at Sam. "Took you long enough. What is _he_ doing with you?"

"My Lord," said Leo with a bow. "My name is Leo Withering, it has been some time since we last met."

"Has it? Really?" It was a shame, Sablemane's deep voice was quite pleasant when Nalice didn't mangle it with her temper. "Withering, you say?" She frowned.

"I believe you knew a Rudolphus Withering some time ago?" said Sam. Maybe if she helped Nalice out, she'd be less likely to die. Nalice knew _all_ of Sabellian's contacts, right?

"Of course," Nalice deadpanned. "I wish to speak to the young lady in private, if you'll excuse me."

"With all due respect, I'd rather not leave her alone," said Leo.

"With all due respect, that wasn't a _request_, Withering." Nalice's eyes slid past the two.

Sam followed her gaze to watch the dueling outside of the gates. No hunters, surprisingly, but then, Nalice wouldn't be present if there were. There were fighting mercs, a couple of guards… there were, what, fifteen people outside of the gates? Easy enough for a dragon to take down…

Oh, hell.

"Leo," said Sam. "It's fine, please." _Leave! Don't get them all killed!_

"I'd rather not," said Leo. "I really would rather not."

"I suggest you listen to the girl," said Nalice. "It really would be a shame otherwise…"

"Is that a _threat_?" Leo arched an eyebrow. "I'm not letting her out of my sight — wait, Sam, are you a whore again?"

Nalice rolled her eyes. Sam shuddered. "Gods, no! Leo, just —"

"Forget it," said Nalice. As her voice shifted into its normal state, her hands shifted into claws and her form grew bigger, the clothing fading into a scaled hide. Leo jumped back in alarm, drawing his daggers. "I shall cut this short," said Nalice, "since I do not have _time_ for this —"

"You!" said Withering, as Nalice's voice changed. "You're the dragon from the Keep — _Sablemane's a dragon?_"

"Perhaps, if she is lucky…" The mercs stopped dueling and the guards came running at the sight of the dragon poised to pounce. "You may see her again. However, I wouldn't count on it. It's time for _her_ reckoning. She must repay us, either in blood or in deed. Let's see which it shall be, shall we?"

Sam yelped as Nalice plucked her from the ground, and rose into the frigid air. By the time the guards cocked their guns, the dragon was already too far away to shoot, her captive clutched in her claws.

-o-O-o-

Wherever Nalice wanted to take her, it was far away.

She landed only twice a day. Sam barely had ten minutes to relieve herself, drink, and eat before the dragon snatched her up again. Her claws were loose enough to allow Sam to curl up within, shielding herself from the terrible winds in the sky with a confused Jettion perched on her lap or burrowed in her pack. Sometimes she found it hard to breathe. Nalice's claws were hot, but protected her from the burn of the sun. Sometimes she flew too high and Sam almost passed out, clutching Nalice's claws and silently begging her, _please let this stop_.

After the Plaguelands passed beneath them, turning into the blue of the Ghostlands and shifting into the verdant green of Eversong, Nalice stopped once more. She allowed Sam to buy skins of water from the reclusive elves, but that was the last time before the sea appeared.

It did not take long to leave the Eastern Kingdoms behind, but the ocean was a behemoth, an endless churn of water. The further north they went, the more Sam's sweat-drenched clothing turned out to be little resistance against the cold. Did Nalice's claws make her hot? Or did she fight some illness? She conserved her water as best as she could, passing most of it to Jettion, cramped in the tiny hollow of Nalice's claws. She waited for death, but death never came.

Instead, Northrend did.

Day turned to night and night turned to day, each stretch of sun growing longer and longer the further north they flew. Sam lost count of how many days passed by the time a frozen green land appeared on the horizon. She curled up in Nalice's grip, weak and barely able to move, her throat dry.

Nalice landed for the last time in a field of snow, and dropped her mortal into a drift. Sam yelped at the biting cold, a bitter contrast to the heat of Nalice's claws. The dragon moved away in her mortal form without a second glance, her cloak enviably thick, towards a break in the mountains to the west.

"If you attempt to lay down and die," Nalice said, "I shall stalk you into whatever afterlife you flee to and make you _pay_. Stop being so dramatic, get up, and follow. Look at Jettion, _he_ is fine."

Sam forced herself to her weak, shaking legs, stumbling again before she even grasped for balance. Her fingers felt numb in the ice, her shoes soaked.

Jettion grumbled. His body looked gaunt from the trip, and yet he'd never felt so heavy in Sam's weak arms. "He's a child," Sam choked out. "How could you —"

"_Pah_," said Nalice. "Our children aren't like yours."

If only she had dressed for the cold of Dun Morogh and not the heat of Ironforge! Even Dun Morogh, however, was warm compared to _this_ chill that seeped through her bones. Or was it fever? Sam shook like a gnomish machine as she staggered after Nalice. Jet hulked on her shoulder as she willed each foot in front of the other. _One more step_, she told herself. _Take another… and another…_

If she passed out, she wouldn't have to walk, wouldn't have to endure whatever punishment Nalice would give her, but not even her body had mercy on her. Sam stuffed her hands under her armpits, her arms bony around her thin frame, and staggered on, willing not to trip. It was so much harder to get up than keep going…

The hunger pains had vanished days ago, as if they'd given up on her. Her knees threatened to buckle from underneath her. Sheer will kept her going. Every now and then she grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it into her mouth, her teeth chattering, the drops melting on her tongue. Water kept her alive. Discipline kept her walking even when her body screamed it had had enough.

However weak she was, she was more afraid of what Nalice would do if she stopped.

After what felt like forever, she finally felt the hot air. Blessed, hot air blowing from the west, searing compared to the cold. Did she always have to choose between extremes? The snow turned to slush under her feet and she struggled forward and Nalice stepped upon burnt ground.

They turned into a valley, streaming with magma and ash. Ahead of them loomed a cave. Stalagmites and stalactites hung from a pair of stone jaws like teeth.

Nalice lifted her chin. "This is the Maw of Neltharion, named after our great Aspect Deathwing, father of the Black Flight. You stagger like a melodramatic whelp upon the hallowed ground of the Obsidian Dragonshrine, and you are the first mortal in four thousand years to set foot upon it." Her nose crinkled in disgust. "Sustenance awaits you inside."

Sam could rest soon. It was that thought that kept her going, even as she stumbled again and again. Her mind felt hazy and weak. She longed to lay down and sleep.

Inside the Maw, the heat got worse. It pressed in on her. She almost tripped right into Nalice, who had taken her cloak off at last. Splotches covered her vision.

"Nalice," said a voice in Common. "You must take care of your tools. That whelp looks half _dead_."

"If she is so weak that a _week_ without food will kill her, then we are better off without her." Nalice lifted her chin. "I am not like the others, I do not whine at the thought of having to fly back and retrieve another whelp. Unlike some, I am actually _capable_ of flying a decent distance."

"How do you expect to get your grimoire if you're killing off the only things you can bully into fetching it?"

"My mission in bringing her here is not as selfish, though 'twould be a bonus if she survived. Ugh, she _stinks_."

"You were expecting…?"

Sam looked up. In front of them stood another person — _dragon_, she knew intuitively, from the deep scowl on his face, the black hair and dark eyes. She doubted she'd ever _not_ recognise a Black dragon ever again. He wore robes even thicker than Nalice's in spite of the oppressing heat. Long, black hair fell down his back and bangs hung over his eyes, but he was far from feminine, with a short beard at his chin and a sharp glower as his eyes trailed up and down Sam.

He snorted. "It's half _dead_. Where's Sabellian? I'll make him look after it if I can track him down." He tilted his head, and continued to examine Sam. "Perhaps, when it is healthy again, it can provide him with… _amusement_. He certainly appreciates his mortal toys."

"That is disgusting, and Sabellian died twenty years ago."

"He did, did he?" Finally, the Shrinekeeper tore his eyes from Sam. "How was that?"

"Dark Portal ring a bell, idiot?"

"Sabellian used to go off on his own for centuries at a time, how was I supposed to know when he'd finally carked it?" said the male. "I never in a million years dreamed Deathwing would ever willingly allow him into his _army_, considering how incompetent Sabellian is."

"It's his competency at being alive in spite of all odds that earned him that place, I believe."

"The mortal should come to me. _Now_."

Sam took a reluctant step forward. Nalice shoved at her back. Sam fell down, wincing as her frozen hands came into contact with the searing ground. Her shins burned against the ground. She felt too sore to stand up again.

What was the other dragon's name again?

Serinar. That was it.

"Disgusting," said Serinar. "Nalice, pick it up."

"What, _touch_ her? Ugh."

"We shall have to bring it back to health thanks to _your_ lack of self control. A half-dead mortal is as good as a dead one." Serinar rolled his eyes. "I never will understand why you go to such trouble to put your whelps in the most brutal danger possible and yet expect them to do their jobs.?" Serinar's eyes unfocused. "'Tis impressive, however. 'Tis not every day one almost wipes out a species by accident."

"There was no accident. The bitch betrayed us."

"Mmm, and I think if it has not learned its lesson now, it never will." Serinar looked pointedly to Sam. "Do not allow it to die on us, I have a good feeling about it, from what you have told me."

"Fine," said Nalice, and a pair of hot arms came around Sam. "Where shall I take her to?"

Sam never heard Serinar's answer.

-o-O-o-

She woke to find herself on a warm stone slab, with a cavern stretching high above. She still felt hot, but underneath a thin blanket she was naked. Jettion curled up and slept by her head. Beside her sat Nalice with a bowl of broth.

"_Good_." Sam barely recognised the Draconic word as Nalice's expression twisted in distaste. "_Eat._"

Sam struggled to sit up. Her hands shook as she held the bowl. Nalice sighed theatrically, then spoke in Draconic again.

Sam said, "I'm not fluent." She blew on the shaking spoon before she took a sip. _Food. At last._

Nalice rolled her eyes. "If I do not speak to you in the language, then you shall never learn!"

"How do I not have frostbite?"

"We only walked for five minutes," sneered Nalice.

Sam blinked at the broth, eyelids heavy, as Nalice shoved a full waterskin on her lap. Five minutes? It felt like forever…

How was she not dead? She missed Mandy. Mandy had died for nothing. Her grave was in Stormwind, and Sam would never see it again.

She pushed the broth away. The bowl shattered on the stone floor, inciting a hiss from Nalice. "Do you _want_ to starve to death?"

"Why the hell not?" Sam grunted.

Nalice looked taken aback for only a second before the snarls started up again. "Weakling."

"As if I care." Sam laughed bitterly. "There's nothing you can do that won't hasten my own death anyway. The worst thing you can do is give me pain, and that can't be worse than the guilt of having destroyed everything my best friend held dear, or the agony of having my little girl taken from me at the whims of a Bronze who won't explain herself."

_Be strong, Sam. You have to be strong. Don't give into this guilt, this despair…_

She almost laughed again. What did strength mean, in the end?

Nalice sighed. "_Humans_. So dramatic. How did Sabellian _ever_ put up with you lot?"

"You never told Serinar he was gone," said Sam, "but you talked to Onyxia about him often. You lied to her, didn't you? She told me the Dark Portal wasn't going to open."

"Onyxia was the most incompetent leader we ever had," said Nalice. "She would have waited for her precious brother to rescue us all, the fool, and so I… lead her on a bit, crushed her hopes. To hope is to be weak, it is a useless emotion. She deserved it. As for Serinar, I never spoke about Sabellian to him, because neither of us could care less."

"You're his daughter."

"And?"

"His sister loved him more than his daughter. That's sad."

"How _sweet_," Nalice snickered. "We are not humans. We don't _love_ our children, neither do they love us. Besides, I hear your father didn't love _you_ either."

"Onyxia loved her children."

"Onyxia was a demented fool who heard voices and believed in conspiracy theories."

"Yet you hold her death against me."

"Onyxia is not the only one who died, idiot." Nalice glared down at the shattered bowl on the ground, but made no move to pick up the pieces. Sam closed her eyes. "Onyxia was the only one who should have died. She and Sabellian were… different to the others. Onyxia was once as strong as the rest of us. Sabellian never was, he was always weak. Even in the head. Onyxia blames the persecution for his disability as what caused him to be weak, but the rest of us knew better."

"Knew better?" murmured Sam.

"Indeed. He was _born_ that way," said Nalice. "Even when his leg was merely prone to breakage and he did not know it would come to hamper him, legend has it that he rarely killed mortals even out of necessity and often consorted with mortals. He always hated his own kind, but would never harm those who did not harm him first. When Onyxia fell from grace for a while, his stupid ideals rubbed onto her and she never let them go. Unfortunately, by the time his physical weakness attracted attention, he was too good at hiding, too good at escaping. Those who wanted him to die resorted to attacking him in his sleep, but even then the _karkunasj _survived." She tilted her head. "Even then, he refused to kill his enemies. The Flight ended up using him for all that he was good for; training the Dragonsworn. And now…" She rose. "I leave you to starve, since you seem content enough to do just that."

"How telling," said a new voice. Nalice did not even twitch, but Sam jumped to hear Serinar's voice. At the entrance of the cavern, standing in shadow where she could barely see him, Serinar crossed his arms, leaned against the wall, and watched Nalice with an amused smile.

Not a smirk. A smile.

Sam wasn't surprised for Nalice to bristle and snarl, "_Wipe that smile off your face_, you complacent fool."

"Oh, I'm not complacent," said Serinar. "I'm amused. For as weak as Sabellian was, I do not recall him _ever_ allowing his Dragonsworn to die if he could help it, even the most suicidal ones. In fact, they always flourished. Shame that not even his spawn can keep hers alive." He shrugged.

Nalice bristled. "If she is weak enough to die — "

"Then by all means, go to Outland yourself. The mortal is hardly going to survive, is it?" Serinar rose his eyebrows. "_You_ informed me it was the strongest mortal you've ever met. Where are you going to find another mortal like it?" Serinar rolled a shoulder. "I'll be outside. I am expecting the arrival of a sick drake at any moment, and he wants to choose his resting place."

Nalice said not a word as Serinar left.

A few hours later, Sam woke to find another bowl of broth beside the slab she slept on.

-o-O-o-

A week later, she still felt weak, but better. Nalice wordlessly delivered food, and Sam didn't embarrass the dragon by thanking her. Though the thoughts that she was better off dead continued to hover in her mind, she slowly ate her food and sipped her water, and nursed herself back to health with Jettion thumping his tail like a puppy beside her.

Serinar had mentioned Outland. Why would Nalice want her to go there? Did she believe in the Old Gods' corruption, now? Then again, didn't Serinar mention something about a grimoire?

After the first week had passed and Sam began to move around, Nalice presented her with simple clothes that looked oddly… primal. "I doubt 'twill fit properly," said Nalice, the first words she'd spoken in days. "The Taunka, the native people of Northrend, made this. I shan't insult my aunt's memory by allowing you to wear any of _our_ clothes!"

The clothing was thick and hot. It was made for the outdoors, no doubt. Sam put them on anyway after Nalice banished her to a hot spring to bathe ("You _reek_.") and returned in time for Nalice to lead her away, clucking.

"Why aren't there any dragonspawn here?" said Sam. The clothes stuck to her with sweat.

"The dragonspawn protect the broods," said Nalice. "This is a shrine. This is where dragons come to die. Once upon a time we found our mates here, but we have grown so few that we can go years without meeting a dragon in need of a mate here, so they stopped coming." Sam waited, the guilt eating at her chest. Nalice didn't disappoint her. "And now there are even fewer, thanks to you. If I am to estimate correctly we probably have only ten breeding females alive now." Sam shoved the guilt aside as Nalice spoke. She had to be strong… whatever being strong _meant_. "Serinar has been keeper for twenty thousand years, and the last few thousand years have been quite quiet."

Her mind seized upon the first distraction it could find. "Twenty thousand years? How old is he?"

"Thirty four thousand, give or take a century or two."

"How old are _you_?"

"Six thousand. Your point?"

"Bloody _hell_." Of course. Trust _dragons_ not to care about age differences so big. "That's practically — "

"I have been an adult since I was a century or so old, mortal." Nalice snickered. "If I chose a mate within a few years of me as mortals tend to, I would have found myself lacking in choice."

"So how old were you when…?"

"When I chose him? Two thousand. Quite late, actually, to choose one's first mate, many have six or seven by then. 'Twas difficult to find one with my father's reputation." Nalice sniffed.

"So I take it you don't have any others?" said Sam.

"None of your business," said Nalice.

"Of course not." Ahead of them stood Serinar, arms crossed. "Even in _our_ culture, few people like Nalice. But then, that is mostly because of her blood ties. Fortunately, nobody would _dare_ give me trouble for stooping so low, though I cannot say her mother or Sabellian's other mates were so lucky. I see the mortal is well again."

_Me? "Well"? Hell no!_

"Kneel," said Serinar. Nalice moved to his shoulder and crossed her arms as Sam obeyed, struggling to remain upright. "In spite of its crimes we are doing the mortal a favour. I do certainly hope it does not go wasted, but in spite of its atrocities Nalice spoke highly of it. At least, before it erased most of our flight. Congratulations."

"You _are_ talking to me, right?" said Sam.

"Again, we are doing the mortal a favour and encourage it not to push its luck. It has little luck as it is."

"It has been decided you will be made a Dragonsworn after all," said Nalice, circling her.

Sam gaped. "After what I _did_?"

"You will need to be," said Nalice. "All Dragonsworn carry a special symbol, and if you dare approach a member of the Black Dragonflight without it they will surely slay you. Unfortunately, the mission of redemption I am about to give you involves doing such a thing, and alone, which means I must make you a Dragonsworn… at least partially. It would be heresy to give you the symbol otherwise."

And yet, not heresy to make a mass-murderer a Dragonsworn, apparently — wait. _Redemption?_ Why was Nalice going to all this trouble to redeem a _mortal? _Sam stared.

"This is how the ceremony traditionally proceeded millennia ago." Nalice interlocked her fingers and stretched, arching her back. Sam tried not to notice Serinar appreciatively eyeing her form as she pushed her palms towards the ceiling, before she was back flat on her feet, dark eyes boring into Sam. "The Dragonsworn-in-training make a pilgrimage to the shrine with their patron. It gave the added bonus of seeing if the Dragonsworn was strong enough, or if they died on the journey. Once they recover, they undergo the Naming, and bind themselves to their patron dragon before they receive the Symbol of Allegiance. Unfortunately, we must do it a little differently."

Sam tried to ignore Serinar's disconcerting stare.

As it turned out, it was _very_ hard to ignore Serinar.

"You are not to be _my_ Dragonsworn, unless my mother is dead and you prove to be a _karkunashj_ yourself and make it back alive," said Nalice. "Instead, you are to be a gift to my mother in Outland. _She_ will be your patron. Her name is Maleficent. Yes, Samanthia, Outland."

_Samanthia?_ Ugh. "Is that to be my name?"

Serinar snickered. "More concerned about its name than facing certain death? I like this mortal."

"I would not be so quick to judge her skills at staying alive," said Nalice.

"Reminds me of someone we know," said Serinar. "It really _is_ a shame that Sabellian is not here, they would be birds of a feather. Although, I would not dismiss the possibility…" He smirked.

Nalice shot him a glare, before looking back to Sam without allowing him to finish. "You may choose your name. The Naming is the Dragonsworn's last freedom; the freedom to choose, but they must choose a name that fits Black dragon tradition. After that, they must dedicate their lives to serving our orders, most specifically the orders of their patron."

Nalice brought a knife from her cloak. The blade was jagged, inlaid with runes, and dark gems glittered in the black handle. "This is an athame, a ceremonial blade. Once upon a time it was used for different purposes; now its duty is to cut flesh. The arms of both the patron dragon and the Dragonsworn-to-be were cut, their blood mixed with a special substance, and vows given. But you are not going to use this one, I shan't trust you with it. Maleficent will have her own." She slipped it back into her cloak. "Our family has always trained the Dragonsworn. It was the only thing Sabellian was useful for. Today, you are to choose your name and be given your symbol. The rest Maleficent will take care of when you find her."

"The mortal looks fearful," said Serinar. "You'd best tell it what its duty is."

"You are to enter Outland." Nalice reached into her cloak again. It was so thick that just looking at it made Sam feel so much hotter than she already felt in the stifling shrine. She pulled out chalk, and knelt to inscribe runes on the ground. "The demons have been gathering for some time now, it is only a matter of time before the Dark Portal opens. On the other side, past the plains of Hellfire Peninsula and north of the wetlands of Zangarmarsh, you will stumble upon Blade's Edge Mountains. There you will find the remnants of the Black Dragonflight that were left there to die in the wake of what mortals call the Second War." As Nalice circled Sam, drawing more Draconic runes, she continued to speak. "You will seek out Maleficent. She is the strongest female of the army Deathwing led, and therefore she will be alive. She is also the only dragon likely _not_ to slay you on sight before you can present your symbol."

"How will I tell Maleficent apart from the others?" said Sam.

"Females have physical differences to males." Nalice stood, dusting her hands of chalk. "When they are in dragon form, look at the eyes. The males' are more slanted, but the females have larger, rounder eyes in order to better see in the dark caves we keep our young in. Of course…" She smirked. "You won't be able to tell from a distance."

How the fel was she going to do this without getting _killed_? Hell, how was she going to get into Outland at _all_, even if the Dark Portal did open? Just walk past legions of demons and wave as she walked by?

… But that was the point, wasn't it? Nalice wanted her to redeem herself or die trying.

_No amount of redemption will undo what I did._ Not even if she saved them, somehow, from the Old Gods… but how could she do _that_? How could she complete the work Onyxia started, whatever work Onyxia may have done?

"Once you find Maleficent, you will retrieve her grimoire," said Nalice. "You will also swear fealty to her. I expect she will send you along herself to deliver it to me, then have you return to her. You have _many_ long journeys ahead of you, mortal. And I do so _hope_ she doesn't discover what you did…"

Finally, Serinar spoke, his eyes fixed on Sam's. "The mortal's actions cost the lives of almost five hundred dragonkin in the battle of Blackrock, then two hundred dragon children and a hundred dragonspawn in the Dustwallow Massacre... including our leaders Onyxia and Romathis. We should kill it, but it has its uses yet. But it won't be able to flee. This mission is not optional for it. If Nalice sees it failing to strive to its mission, Nalice will kill it instantly. Which would be a shame, because if we could point it at the _other_ dragons for a change, we might win this war, since it obviously has a talent for wiping out so many victims at a time. But…"

Serinar clasped his hands. "Nalice tells me she chose well. She intended for it to go on this mission all along, but previously it would have been Dragonsworn as it did it, Nalice's dragonsworn. If it succeeds, it will be rewarded by being the Dragonsworn of one of the most powerful dragons ever born, _and_ it will be redeemed. If it fails, it will die without polluting the sanctity of the Flight by being a full Dragonsworn as it does. Does it understand?"

"I understand," said Sam.

"Mortal," said Nalice. "Rise. The time has come to take a new name in honour of your patron flight. What shall it be?"

She'd never put much thought into it, but she'd used a false name in Ironforge. The name she'd taken on in Onyxia's honour by adhering it to Obsidian tradition, hoping Onyxia would not be ashamed by it. "Samia Inkling."

"Good." Nalice pressed her palms together. "And you have almost shed your human name, too, which is promising, and yet not in a way that defiles the Black Dragonflight. Ink is typically black, is it not? And, _ling_. That means 'small', doesn't it? Just like _whelpling_. It reminds me of what a small pest you are."

In front of her, Nalice murmured in Draconic. A few words here and there Samia recognised, but in the haze of her mind she couldn't identify them. The runes on the ground glowed until bright light surrounded her, also bathing Nalice's hands. Something warmed in Samia's chest, until the light died down.

"This…" A glass orb appeared in Nalice's fingers, warping Sam's reflection. "…is a soulstone. A _true_ soulstone. The warlocks who stole my mother's magic and defiled it with demonic energy made a mere mockery. Using this, I can see you wherever you are. I have only to smash it, and you are dead. If I see you deviate from your mission, I will break it."

A sudden death, as fleeting as an arrow in the dark. "What would you have me do?" said Sam.

"Not grovelling, not whimpering..." there were traces of admiration in Serinar's tone. "Perhaps it is _not_ a complete failure after all, even if it answers back like a petulant child. Still, to do that to a Black dragon one must either be brave or stupid…"

Did they care at all that many dragonkin had died thanks to her? Black dragons claimed to not care for one another, and it seemed to be true in the case of Serinar, who looked only mildly annoyed at what Sam had done, and yet Nalice had leapt on it like a rabid dog.

"In a few days, I shall carry you back to the Eastern Kingdoms and you will make your way to the Blasted Lands and wait for the portal to open," said Nalice. "When the opportunity arises, you shall proceed through." The soulstone disappeared into her robes, and out came a necklace. "It will take you some months, possibly up to a year. I am patient. If you survive this trial, you will have earned your place in the Black Dragonflight. We despise traitors, but I do not hesitate to use you."

On the end of a fine silver chain was a symbol carved out of a black gem. The fine craftsmanship looked like a rune, a flowing figure reminiscent of a figure eight, and yet not exactly one. It looked fragile.

"This is the dragonsworn's pendant, the symbol of our Flight," said Nalice. "If you survive to swear fealty to Maleficent, she will infuse it with her magic. It is nothing more than a symbol of status, however, a signature that identifies her to other dragons should you communicate with them."

How was Sam going to _survive _this? But Nalice _must_ think she'd survive — why else would she have Sam retrieve the grimoire, and not do it herself? Sam took a deep breath. "As you wish, mistress."

"Good," said Nalice, putting the symbol around her neck. "Keep that hidden. Wyrmhunters know it. Bring it out only when necessary."

-o-O-o-

After the mortal left them both, Serinar said, "And how do you plan on getting your grimoire back when it dies? You've been whining about that book forever."

Nalice shrugged, watching the orb in her hand. "I shall have to fetch it myself. The Dragonsworn must be either redeemed or purged because of her crimes, it is no longer enough for her to merely assist us. Plans must be changed. I cannot allow myself to be assisted by one who must pay penance."

"Once Maleficent sees the uninfused symbol, she'll kill it anyway, you _do_ realise that? She'll think it's stolen."

"That is the point."

"If you want it dead, kill it yourself. What is the point otherwise? You know it could still survive."

"Indeed," said Nalice. "And if it — if _she_ does, then I have chosen very well indeed, and she will be redeemed _and_ retrieve the grimoire for me in the meantime. We win both ways, don't we?"

"I have known you four thousand years, Nalice, don't attempt to fool me." Serinar smirked.

Nalice shrugged and slipped the orb back into the folds of her cloak.

"I've yet to see you ever kill a mortal," Serinar went on. "You are more like your sire than you will ever admit. Strange, how she can wipe out two broods without displaying much guilt, and yet you can't bring yourself to kill _one_ mortal. My, my, perhaps weakness is genetic after all."

"Why do you think I appreciate her over most other mortals?" said Nalice. "She is detached from emotions that get in the way. She may angst, and yet she does not succumb to drink or anything else most mortals would. She knows how to place one foot in front of the other, that creature. She has committed crimes, yes, but why not give her even the tiniest of chances?"

"I think its chances of survival rise dramatically if it encountered your sire instead of your mother," said Serinar. "Maleficent wouldn't believe her if it told her you gave the uninfused pendant to it. _He_ would. You might as well have sent it to _him_ instead."

"He is dead, idiot. The moment he fought a gronn he would — "

"But that's the trick, isn't it?" said Serinar. "He'd die instantly… _if_ he fought a gronn. I know him, Nalice, and so do you. He knows how to disappear. If he didn't want to fight one, he'd ensure the gronn never even knew he existed…"

-o-O-o-

There was little to do in Stormwind anymore. Stormwind worked hard to train its hunters to detect even the most cunning of dragonkin, and while Hora knew that there would _always_ be dragonkin who went undetected, she would never be one of them.

Instead, she sat in her apartment, gazing out of the second-floor window into the Trade District in her gnomish form. Her landlord didn't ask many questions, and she felt glad for that. She had things that were yet to come to pass, events she had to help transpire, but for now, she wanted rest.

She wasn't depressed. Depression was being sad, wasn't it? But Hora didn't feel sad. She felt a persistent ache inside her, an emptiness that permeated every aspect of her being. She hadn't moved much. What was the point? So many timelines transpired all the time, so many timelines to shut down and police and prune so that the main timeline remained strong.

She had all the time in the world.

She could go back further and continue to edit, but seeking perfection was a way that lead to madness. How many times had she allowed the confrontation to take place by now?

No. Sacrifices had to be made. It had led to what Hora wanted.

Something popped into existence beside her, and she felt the tug on her being already, as if she'd suddenly grown tired. A little gnome appeared, like a reflection, looking up at her. Her past self? She'd checked in on her future self every now and then to ask for answers she'd forgotten. "Chromie's looking for you!"

"I know. I was you, once, perhaps you recall."

"So what the hell did you put the wards down for?" snapped her past self. "Idiot! She must be coming _here_ — "

"I know."

"_Why?_ How the hell am I supposed to fix everything if I just give up later on down the track?"

"She was right," said Hora. "We've done enough. _You_ haven't, not yet. I have."

The younger Hora threw her arms into the air and vanished.

Before present Hora could appreciate the feeling of a weight lifting from her, the fatigue returned as an identical gnome appeared in the doorway. This one, however, lifted her chin up high and tilted her head with a professional slant. She stank of time magic.

"Hello, Chromie," said Hora.

"Hora." Chromie frowned. "It's time to come home."

"Our past self warned me."

"She did?" said Chromie. "It's so long ago I barely remember, but I remember this conversation. I remember you interrupting me to tell me — "

"We shouldn't go with the ebb and flow of time just because our Aspect says so!" said Hora. "We have power over time, we should use it!"

"To be honest, it feels like talking to a different person completely. Fifteen thousand years is a long time." She held out her hand. "I know you're tired, though. I know you've done so much work and it feels like it's all coming to nothing, because of how precise it is, how many have had to die, and I know you question if you should even bother. Come with me, Hora. Come home. They forgave me, you know, very willingly. Every Bronze pulls something like this at one point."

"Onyxia was your _mate_."

"And we let her down," said Chromie. "I remember. The Black Dragonflight aren't grateful, Hora. They'll always remember the hundreds of people who died, not the tens of thousands of lives we'll save. They'll always think we could have done it differently, because they'll never see the intricacies of it all."

"I didn't do this for _gratitude_!" said Hora. "I did this to save our future! Alexstrasza never knew what happened to her because _we_ never told her, because somehow we thought we served Azeroth by letting everyone on it _die_!"

"What will come to pass, will come to pass." Chromie didn't drop her hand.

"Easy for you to say!" Hora's eyes flashed. "You — _we_ are a Bronze! We can teleport from the disaster to a time when Neltharion was alive and uncorrupt, we can go _whenever_ we like! The mortals and most of the immortals in the future won't be able to do that. It's easy for you to hide from their pain, but they can't. You know what's going to happen if I don't get involved. _Someone_ has to be the better person."

"You're young." Still, Chromie continued to hold out her hand. "You'll learn, Hora. There's no good fighting it, because you'll become me one day. Come with me. Come home. We have a duty to make sure everything goes as it should."

"I don't believe in it."

But Hora gazed at her future self's hand. She was tired. So tired.

"It seems that no matter what I do, it's not enough," said Hora. "Onyxia still died. She still had to die, and little Amandine... I must have gone through her death so many times trying to find _some_ way to prevent it and still come out on top. Even if the timeline didn't destabilise, it... everything was still lost, still dramatically changed."

"You know why. Samia figured it out, too, in the end. She wasn't happy about her daughter's death, but she accepted it. She knew it was for the highest good." Chromie stepped closer. "You have overexerted yourself struggling to save a people that could not save themselves. I will tell you something, Hora... You've done enough. Let them save themselves. It's up to them now. Not you. The Black Dragonflight preach strength, preach the survival of the fittest... I think it is time we see if they can live up to that."

"I don't trust you," Hora murmured. "You're going to shut it down, aren't you?"

Chromie shook her head. "I remember your hope, your tiredness. You only want to have a rest, you dread the task ahead of you. I'll watch over it. Come home, let them fight for themselves…"

Hora gazed at Chromie's hand, before she took it with a sigh. "I don't want this place shut down, but I'll come with you. I… I just… let them be. Please."

Chromie smiled. "If they save this world, I'll keep the timeline intact. If they don't, then we have nothing to lose by shutting it down."

"We poured so much time into it!"

Chromie laughed. "Silly Hora. We're Bronzes. We have all the time in the world."

* * *

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially those who have decided to wait and see where this shall go next!_


	43. INTERLUDE II: The Burning Crusade

**_A/N:_**_ Thanks to all who reviewed, and thanks to **Diloph** and **Coincidencless** for doing beta work on this chapter for me!_

_**WARNING:** This chapter has a lot of gore._

* * *

**Interlude II**

**The Burning Crusade**

* * *

The trees overhead rustled in the darkness. Samia heard a powerful beat of wings as a breeze from above caressed her hair.

On her lap, a whelp's head perked, eyes fixed on the black sky, his scales lit with orange light. Sam held him tighter.

Around the fire, there was silence save for the crackle of burning wood.

"That's the third time it's flown over us today, and the eighth time this week." Tree Warden Chawn's voice rumbled with the thick accent of Taurahe, his gaze skywards along with everyone else's. "The wildlife is barely making a comeback and that dragon is picking them off like a shark with the last school of fish in the ocean."

"I don't think it's seen such a feast in some time." Leo's eyes remained fixed on the sky. "There aren't many dragons around, but the ones I've seen looked emaciated. I think it's taking cover from the storm."

Beside him, Lana frowned. "It's probably the same one that's been hanging around all week."

Chawn's solemn eyes hardened. "Perhaps we should take care of it before it becomes a greater threat…"

Beyond the illuminated leaves, thunder rumbled in the pitch darkness. Rarely did natural thunderstorms come to Blade's Edge, but ever since the Cenarion Expedition had settled on the mesas of the mountains and coaxed the dormant nature back to life, rain had made a comeback.

It had taken months to make it to Ruuan Weld, from camping by the Dark Portal and waiting for an opportunity to cross over, to making the long journey from Honor Hold. Once she'd arrived she'd found Leo and Lana already there.

Now, weeks more after finding it at last, Samia observed the resident dragon's habits. Perhaps it was Maleficent whom Sam often caught staring at her from a distant ledge, perched close enough to worry the druids but too far away to reach. Every time Leo or Lana caught Samia raptured in its gaze, their eyes narrowed in suspicion, and so Sam did not dare leave the camp. Not until they moved on. They'd been here even longer than she had, and although compassionate Leo did not give her any more than suspicious frowns, Lana's scathing attitude annoyed her.

Leo had been relieved to see Samia alive, but it had quickly transformed into fury. "I'm not joining the Brotherhood of Cinders," she said. "Thanks, though."

"Strange, you tell me that in a place with plenty of Black dragons," he'd sneered.

"I'm here to help with the wyrmcult," she lied. "I know Black dragons enough to deal with the cult if they get hostile. I know you don't believe me, and I'm not going to try and convince you."

Above, lightning struck, ripping her back into the present. Lana's wolf growled. As Jettion stiffened in her lap, Sam stroked his snout.

"We'll get wet if we don't get inside soon." With a huff, Chawn rose to his feet and stalked away.

In the distance, Sam heard the great thud of the dragon's landing. Or was it thunder? Jettion snapped to attention again, but a thought struck Sam with cold horror as she calculated where the sound had come from. "That's in the gorge. Lana, didn't you say someone lives down there?"

"Someone _whats_ down there?" said Leo. "What kind of idiot would live in the middle of nowhere?"

"Some alchemist, I think, I forgot his name," said Lana. She rolled her eyes. "It's _completely_ logical, if you think about it. I mean, it's not like anyone has to worry about being eaten by raptors, ogres, crust bursters…"

The scent of rain grew stronger, mingled with the heavy air. Samia strained her ears as Lana rattled off a list of Blade's Edge dangerous denizens, but the screams she waited for never came.

Jettion listened with a tilted head. Every time the dragon had been nearby, Jettion had trilled and called for it long after it had gone. He missed his kind. He missed his mother. Ever since they'd crossed over, the usually energetic and nippy whelp had become quiet, if friendlier than usual.

"… 'Samia' in a bad mood, giant spiders, felsworn, chimaeras, wolves… did I miss anything?"

"Yes," said Leo. "The gronn."

Lana's face darkened. "They're reason enough to hide under a rock and never come out, from what I've heard."

Something plopped on top of Samia's head. The fire sizzled in front of her. Jettion hissed as a fat drop landed on his snout.

Lana picked up her gun. "Let's all crowd in, shall we?"

Hugging Jettion close, Samia stood, but the whelp squirmed out of her grip to hover beside her, his eyes fixed on the darkness between the trees.

"Is something there, Jet?" said Leo.

Sam's heart sped in trepidation as she gazed into the trees, listening for the crack of twigs or rustle of grass. Jettion continued to stare, but nothing peeled away from the inky blackness.

Dragon's End was that way. Sam had seen it once, with the dead bodies of drakes and dragons mummified by the dry heat overlooking the valley. She never wanted to again.

Unnerved, she said, "Jet, what is it?"

To her relief, the whelp flapped to her side. He offered no explanation, but then, he rarely did.

Just in time for the clouds to dump on them.

Swearing, Sam sprinted through the beaten path and into the safety of the cramped inn. Jettion fluttered after her, still glancing over his shoulder.

The inn was a small building only meant to house a few beds, mostly the richest and most deserving of mercenaries, but ever since the thunderstorms started coming back that all went to hell and everyone piled in, covering every inch of the floor and then some. The innkeeper had long ago given up on shooing them out and instead handed out blankets with a resigned glaze over her eyes. Everyone pressed together uncomfortably out of necessity. Nobody liked it, but everyone liked leaving someone out in that rain even less. Sam picked her way through huddled bodies into a corner. She unstrapped her weapons and prepared to curl up to conserve space, watching Lana and Leo enter.

Jettion trilled, and flew out of the inn.

_Damn it!_ Samia abandoned her pack and swords and stumbled over bodies into the bucketing rain, just in time to see Jettion vanish south through the trees.

"Jettion!" The thundering rain swallowed Samia's voice. Above, lightning struck again. Where the fire had been only a moment before coiled acrid smoke. She smelled wet earth. Rain pounded against her, soaking her to the bone as she shivered.

Jettion did not return.

Cursing, Sam splashed through rapidly-forming puddles, her boots soaking through as she followed. Far ahead she glimpsed a black blur through the curtain of rain. She sped up her pace. "_Jettion!_ It's not safe for you out there! Please, Jet!"

Suddenly the trees came to an end and Sam stumbled to a stop at the edge of a cliff. Below, she caught a dark patch fluttering against the grey of the ground in the darkness, a glimpse of pale underbelly. Sam's boots squelched in mud as she found a path down to the gorge floor. Already the water ran like little rivers in the gravel. "_Jettion!_"

To her left, she heard a rumble. Lightning struck again, displaying the corpses of dead drakes and dragons impaled against the spikes of Blade's Edge, black silhouettes against a sky flushed with white before it faded into darkness, sending shivers down her spine. Far to her left, a dark behemoth hulked.

It could be Maleficent, or it could be a gronn. From the way Jettion veered away from it and fluttered west, Samia wasn't about to bet on the former. If it chased Jet down…

Jettion flapped through the rain and deeper into the gorge. Mud splashed as high as Sam's chest as she cut through a once-parched riverbed, already up to her calves in mud. Even the raptors had fled from the oncoming storm.

Ahead loomed the mouth of a large cave, revealed by a sheet of lightning. Jet's wings proved too weak to keep flying against the howling wind as Sam watched the whelp ahead crawl through the mud towards it. Dragging air into her lungs, Sam felt relieved when she crested the hill and entered the cave past a curtain of water.

The cave muted the sounds of the world, the rain reduced to a soothing drum. The still, dead air cast a spell of silence in the blackness that surrounded them. Sam's drenched hair stuck to her cheeks, neck and forehead. Her clothes clung to her form. She heard nothing but the rushing of her heart and the chattering of her teeth.

"Jet?" she whispered.

Ahead, she heard a soft, familiar purr. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. She could barely make anything out in this darkness, but she saw movement at the base of a large boulder, out of which jutted the trunks of two large, dead saplings. They were still and pale in the darkness. Jet raised his head as Samia approached, her feet crunching on the rocks, laughing in sheer relief as she crouched beside him. "What were you _thinking,_ you little — "

Lightning struck outside, and illuminated the cave in its entirety.

Samia screamed.

Those weren't trees — _those were horns!_

She fell backwards, clamping a hand over her mouth with a mental _sorry!_ as a massive head rose to regard her. Two yellow eyes blinked open, too narrow to belong to a female. Scaley lips curled back to reveal sharp teeth. A deafening growl filled the cave.

Oh shit oh shit oh _shit!_

Terror propelled Sam to her feet, almost stumbling as she tore out of the cave and into the rain at full speed —

— and skidded in mud as she stopped dead in her tracks.

A hulking silhouette in the mist of rain grew larger, and larger, and larger.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

In the cave, she hadn't heard the massive feet beat against the earth. She hadn't felt it tremour beneath her with every step the behemoth in front of her took, three times the size of a dragon and ten times as deadly. She hadn't heard its massive feet splash through the forming river she'd left behind her.

She'd heard stories about them. With the walls on either side of her, an angry dragon that was definitely _not_ the relatively friendly Maleficent behind her, a gigantic gronn in front of her…

Samia's heart seized in her chest. She swallowed the lump in her throat, bunched her shaking hands into fists. With every pounding footstep the gronn made, it marched as if to the heartbeat roaring in her ears.

She wasn't going to see morning.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

The gronn growled as loud as the thunder, its strides speeding up, and Sam had a brief second to think_ death by gronn or death by dragon?_ before her feet chose for her and she hared off in the direction from which she'd come, only to stop herself from colliding with a jaw full of teeth just in time.

The dragon stared at her. The baffled expression on his face was almost worth the miserable death she was about to suffer, but Samia had barely opened her mouth to say _oh hey, we're both fucked_ before the gronn bellowed behind her. She whirled around. The dragon growled.

Jettion popped out from between the male's forelegs. He threw his head back and trilled, long and shrill, before he charged, full tilt, towards the gronn.

All of Samia's self-preservation dropped away like the rain.

"_Are you completely stupid?_" she shrieked at the whelp who homed in on the looming intruder. Sam dashed after her, the mud sucking at her sodden boots. "_Jettion, get back here!_"

The gronn snarled and batted at Jet. The whelp dodged, but barely. Samia splashed closer —

A large, scaled tail whipped out and sent her flying towards the gorge wall. Sam raised her arms just in time to protect her head as she connected, ribs cracking, before she slid down into mud. Her wrist throbbed, bent in an impossible angle.

_Ow_.

A roar from the dragon threatened to split her ears as he lunged at the gronn. Sam rolled over to watch, her left arm clutched close to her body. _Fly away, idiot! What are you still doing here?_ He clawed at the gronn's face, leaving trails of blood, and fixed his jaws on its neck. But the gronn was smart; a solid kick to one of the dragon's back legs relinquished the dragon's hold. The gronn didn't hesitate to wrap two mighty arms around the creature, before it turned and threw him aside.

Samia winced, standing up. Thanks to her, _yet again_, another Black was about to die. The dragon struggled beyond, but one of his legs buckled underneath him as the gronn advanced. Sam's heart froze in her throat.

Before the gronn could move in for the kill, Jet gave another war cry and flapped about its head. It rose a massive paw to slap at him, and this time, Samia didn't hesitate. She groped at her waist with her good hand —

_Shit, she'd left her weapons at the inn!_

How fucking _stupid_ could she —

Swearing, she plucked a stone from the ground and hurled it at the gronn. Even as it bounced off its hide, she had another in the air, her throat aching in protest as she screamed, "_Back away from them!_"

The diversion worked. The gronn turned towards her. She picked something else up — shit, it was only a bone! —

In three massive steps it picked her up.

Its hand engulfed her, pinning an arm to her side, leaving only one free. She writhed and struggled, her shoulders already out of its grip as it lifted her to its one eye, blinking at her.

She took the broken bone and thrust for all she was worth.

Hot liquid spilled onto her as the bone penetrated the eye. That was all she knew, for a flash of a second, before her world shrank into a tiny point of light as her body exploded in pain.

The fist squeezed the air out of her. Her ribcage caved in and her organs threatened to explode before it dropped her, shrieking. She must have only fallen yards but it felt like miles as her already broken bones shattered against the floor of the canyon. Only the soft mud cradled her head and stopped it from cracking, but even then the bang rebounded through her being. A twitch sent her into throes of agony. Her body seared, and with each throb of her heart it flared anew.

She couldn't throw up, it would be so much worse if she threw up —

She threw up. Her vision blurred, sparkling with white light and obese splotches.

In the dim edges of her consciousness she sensed blood raining down upon her. Did it belong to the dragon, or the gronn? A dragon's head peered down at her. Water mixed with blood, and fell onto her face. The edges of the vision grew darker already…

"_Please_," she rasped. Her vision blurred. The world swam…

The dragon flew away.

Pain took up every single square inch of her consciousness. Sam forgot about the gorge, forgot the chill that sank into her bones as she struggled to breathe through her malformed chest. Every second stretched into eternity. Jettion howled and butted her with his scaled head. She gasped for air that never came, her knuckles white as she clutched at rocks.

Jettion's howling stopped. Something jabbed into her side. A snake ate its way through her ruined chest, which sucked in and pushed out grotesquely, and wormed into her lungs. She whimpered and clenched her fists and cried and begged, but it did not stop. The rain splattered against her face, the mud stained her hair as another snake tunneled into her opposite side. Her heart stuttered in her chest —

_She could breathe_.

She gasped for searing air and it came to her in blessed abundance as dizziness threatened to overwhelm her. Something sharp jabbed the inside of her elbow. She gagged and retched as hot fingers turned her head to the side.

The world threatened to go out of focus, but never quite winked out. Instead, she caught a glow of green light.

Then the _real_ pain began.

Searing ice sought out every last nerve in her body and set it aflame. Her back arched, her muscles contorted, and a scream tore Sam's throat raw and stole her breath.

Darkness took her, but not for long.

She woke up again, in the same pain she'd been in after the gronn dropped her, and it was a _blessing_ compared to that brief inferno that had consumed her. Endorphins flooded her, dulling the edge. The rain whipped her face.

Then it started all over again.

Every now and then, her mind failed her and shut away the pain for a brief, blissful second and she became aware of someone kneeling beside her, of hands pressed to her ruined ribs, of green light, only for darkness to descend upon her again. Her torturer stopped each time and waited for her to wake before they continued. Her hands clutched theirs in a deathgrip.

Soon, she stopped breathing.

It was easy not to breathe, she noted, as her consciousness floated through fog on the border of blackness. It took all of her will to draw in another breath, and she simply… stopped. She was too tired. The urgency of being denied air paled in comparison to how much it _hurt_ to breathe. Some part of her noted the world had stopped swimming. She felt a mouth on hers, forcing air into her lungs.

It didn't hurt as bad now, but it was too late. The energy she needed to hold onto life had disappeared, dwindling with the last dregs of fading consciousness.

With her pain and death she repaid the Black Flight for what she had done. Nalice had known she would all along.

Darkness returned. It pulled her away from her torturer's vengeance. Far, far away.

This time, it didn't give her back.

-o-O-o-

She didn't go to the Light. Her entire body burned.

She'd have been surprised she did, she thought during a rare snatch of lucidity. Maybe she was unlucky and hadn't died after all. Her lungs still hurt, as if they had been scraped raw and she breathed in sea water. Her wrist throbbed. Her ribs ached.

She laughed anyway. _This_ was a walk in the park compared to what the gronn had put her through, compared to what her torturer had put her through. When the fire around her ebbed and the haze of nausea thinned enough for her to think, she hoped Jettion was alright, that the dragon whom she could have doomed was uninjured.

Sometimes the lucidity faded away and she was left in a world of simmering heat. Creeping shadows filled the flames, one with the smoke that coiled in the air. Bugs crawled on the walls and entered her ears and nose and left her whimpering. Cold like snow set into her bones. Tentacles in her sides writhed and strangled her. It hurt to pull them out, but she pulled them out anyway.

Whenever she did, _he_ came.

The demon.

He'd hurt her precious Mandy's soul, wherever she was, and he'd come and put the tentacles back. Sometimes he used snakes instead, snakes that burrowed into her chest again and made her groan with pain. He fed her vile poison and cut her clothes off her, even as she writhed and begged him not to touch her.

He didn't touch her.

Not yet.

Instead, he charged the shadows to keep watch over her. Only he kept them from devouring her, and he would not for long. He'd grow impatient if she didn't tell him where Mandy was. But she never would. She'd rather die. She'd rather go through that hell again. She spat those words out at him, _you'll have to kill me first!_ but he only walked away.

Sometimes she thought she had visitors. She saw Onyxia once, bent over her with a disgusted snarl. _You killed me_, she whispered, her cold claws digging into Sam's chest and past, making the pain worse. _You killed us all! Hundreds of dragons! You killed my children, you mortal beast!_ _You led the gronn to my kin, just as you led the mortals to my doorstep and killed my children!_

_I never wanted to. _Sam moaned, tossed and turned, and tore one of the snakes out again, which only brought her demon to her as he scowled down at her, passing through Onyxia's spectre like smoke. She felt numb to the pain, by now. She didn't think she could feel pain again after what she'd gone through. _I never wanted them to die, I never wanted them to suffer… I'm sorry, Onyx._

_No_. Onyxia's spirit retreated with a hiss. _What you did was unforgivable._

_I never wanted them to die!_ Her body could never settle. It always tossed and turned and sought a more comfortable position, which had her demon growl at her when her fingers found another snake and pulled. It tried to bite her, tried to wrap around her throat, and she dropped it, choking on air. She struck out weakly at the demon, earning a glare for her trouble. _Onyx… Onyxia… I miss you._

_Somehow, I'm not surprised_. Then it was Leo standing there, his arms crossed and his face sad. _I only regret that she was the only person who was ever kind to you… I could have prevented everything, only I… _ And when she held his eyes, they widened in surprise. _Sam? Can you hear me? It's going to be alright. You're safe now. Your fever's pretty bad but you've pulled through this far. Sablemane's doing all he can for you. Well… "Sablemane."_

_Her fever broke,_ said the demon. When she looked at him she saw a dark-eyed man with robes of flame, one she recognised instantly as the figure who'd tortured her in the gorge. _She may pull through after all, but do not hold your breath._

_Fuck you, Nalice_, she said. _Fuck you. My debt's been repaid in blood, now please fuck off and die in a fire._

She thought she heard her brother laugh. _Yeah, you show that bitch._

The edges of her vision darkened. Leo faded away. Nalice faded away. Oblivion eased her from the world into safety.

Safety from shadows. Safety from snakes. Safety from everything.

If only she'd never know anything again.

-o-O-o-

_Demons? Nalice? Really? What will I be next, an undead lesbian troll with leeches for hair?_

_Are you going to wake up, or are you going to die? I only ask because you seem to be annoyingly indecisive and Jettion's keening is vexing and makes the idea of eating my sister's young quite appealing._

_Neither do I get any opportunity to sleep, for I am doomed to watch over you lest you keel over if I blink, and even if I wanted to my nephew won't silence his howling. So, thank you for your rude awakening last week._

…

_I would appreciate it if you recovered. Forgive me, I am never logical when half asleep, I would not have frightened you so badly if I were lucid. Then, perhaps, you wouldn't be in this position. I've been waiting for you. I dragged you from the edge of the void kicking and screaming, but you've come this far, have you not? It seems your spirit does not give up easily, even when you want it to…_

-o-O-o-

Light.

Nausea rolled within her, but it felt faint. Her mind felt so much clearer. The inferno that had taken her body was remembered only with a dull ache in her chest to mark it ever having been there, and a pleasant warmth. Sam's eyes cracked open to see the ceiling of a cave. From the mouth to her right, light spilled in. She drew in a breath, and let out a single, hacking cough, before her chest twinged with pain and told her that was a bad idea.

Huh. So she was alive. She felt like _shit_ but she breathed, and her body twinged to mark each beat of her heart. It had all felt like a grotesque nightmare…

It hurt to try to sit up, so she stopped bothering and observed her surroundings instead. The cave was tiny and cramped. She smelled chemicals. She lay on a kind of table, with a workbench ahead of her. Dirty vials and books lay scattered across it. There were crates, too, stacked underneath. The urge to cough rose again but she suppressed it.

She felt something by her side. She looked down, to see bandages covering her chest, and rubber tubes coming out from between them.

Oh, gods, did they go _inside _her? Inside her chest? What the _hell_ kind of sicko put them there? She reached out for them —

"I swear to the Titans and the hallowed ground of the Obsidian Shrine, if you pull those things out _one more time_ — "

Sam dropped her hand quickly, looking up with wide eyes. At the mouth of the cave, bright blue daylight behind him, stood a man in orange robes, dark hair curling behind his ears. He cut himself off, frowning.

Great. Nalice. Sam gave her a disgusted look.

She raised an eyebrow. "And judging from the look on your face, you are lucid at last. Well, well, _well_ — "

"That's the story of three holes in the ground," said Sam. She felt as if she watched the world from behind a thick glass window. Her mind felt dull, obtuse, _stupid_. She could barely think without a cloud of fog descending on her.

Nalice sighed. "Apparently _not_. What — "

Her voice sounded hoarse, dying. "And that's the story of the goblin invention called the light bulb — "

"You have never been a _smartarse_ even in your worst feverish babblings, so you must have _some_ lucidity about you."

"Fuck you, Nalice." Her voice was hoarse. It hurt to talk, and it sounded so quiet.

She sighed again. "And you hardly have two brain cells to rub together. I assume you completely forgot my discussion with your most _charming_ brother."

"What discussion?"

She ignored Sam. "I shall have to thank Nalice for using my guise and _blowing my cover_, that little wretch."

Sam yipped when he stepped closer and pressed a dark hand to Sam's brow. "Wonderful." His deep voice dripped with sarcasm. "Your fever is almost gone, so you must be a moron, not hallucinating. Unless you're having a bad reaction to… _fantastic_. The last thing you need is to develop an allergy on top of everything _else_. Does the universe hate you, I wonder? Because I'm starting to."

Sam expected him to sweep to his workbench, but instead, he limped.

Oh. Suddenly, what he'd said a minute ago finally sank in.

"You're not Nalice," said Sam.

"_Really_?" 'Nalice' didn't turn around. "You have _excellent_ observational skills, has anyone ever told you? At least you are no longer mistaking me for a member of the Burning Legion. Though where Nalice is concerned, who knows if there's a difference? It would not surprise me."

"She, um, uses that form on occasion."

"Yes, as I stated before, _I_ _know this_." She could practically hear him roll his eyes. "Your brother alerted me to that fact when he attempted to stab me. What kind of idiot stabs a dragon? If it weren't for the fact you were _dying_ I would have had to abandon my home, _again_. As if I don't do that _enough_. As for my most beloved daughter, Nalice stoops lower than a vrykul giving a gnome oral sex. _I_ am — "

"Sabellian," she croaked, as her mind began to clear. She still felt sick, still felt foggy, but now she followed his curt tone with far less difficulty than before. "Onyxia told me about you. Nalice likes you just about as much as you like her, by the way. Then again, she hates everyone."

He tilted his head. "Perhaps you're not _entirely_ a fool, if you are quite familiar with the Black Dragonflight. Which is…" His brow creased. "… _curious_. You are mortal. You are not even _dragonspawn_. Dragonsworn, yes? We have not had one of those for millennia, not including the failures in Blackwing Coven, and look how _that_ turned out. Yet, the pendant you carry is uninfused and dragons _never_ give out pendants without enchanting them first. Which means either you _stole_ it, or someone wants you dead."

"Dragonsworn, yeah." Her voice threatened to break. "And Nalice likes to put me into dangerous situations. I think she likes to challenge me."

"I'm not sure if you're being sarcastic or naïve." He thrust a vial towards her. "Drink. How are you feeling? Speak delicately. Your vocal chords will have to heal on their own, I'm afraid. You did them so much damage I'm not certain your voice will ever be the same."

Was there honey on Outland? The mixture tasted like it, and soothed the hurt in her throat. She _sounded_ better when she spoke. "Better. I'm not dying. So, um, thanks for that." Her throat felt irritated, and she cut herself off mid-cough.

He glared at her. "Cough."

"What?" She remembered just on time to keep her voice down. "No! It hurts!"

He narrowed his eyes at her in a glare that even Nalice would cower from. So _that_ was where she got it from. "By all means, feel free to allow the fluid in your lungs, that I have worked so _painstakingly_ to drain, to build up, and then get pneumonia all over again and _die_ if you feel like it." He huffed and turned to his workbench. "If not, _cough it up."_

She felt too self-conscious to obey, but the tickle in her throat grew worse until she submitted. After a good, painful coughing fit, she said, "Pneumonia?"

"Your lungs filled with fluid because of your injury. Complications then occurred." He pointed at the black rubber tubes without turning around. "I had to drain them, you almost drowned. That's what those are for. I expect humanity hasn't yet evolved to that stage where such a sight is familiar yet, but do not fret, it is to your benefit. Your lungs, by a miracle, hadn't filled with air nor been punctured so it was relatively simple — " Sam struggled to keep up with the lecture. " — but I still had to pump out the fluids with the bellows there. Pneumonia came anyway, but it could have been a _lot_ worse. If you didn't respond so well to the troll's blood I injected you with, you would have died a slow, agonising death. You stopped breathing for a few minutes as it was, but started up again with enough persistance."

Wow. Did he ever _shut up? _Apparently not, because he kept right on going. "Of course, if I had stopped to sanitise the equipment you would have _died_. The resulting infection almost killed you, but once again troll's blood saved the day, boosting the production of white blood cells and allowing the body to fight off infections. I had to be careful with the dosage because an overdose of troll's blood can increase the risk of leukaemia, especially if one is quite sensitive to it in the manner that you are, and — "

"Fuck, I'm too sick to understand this shit."

"I don't expect any Azerothian to understand. I would not have made that discovery either without the, ah, unwitting assistance of a Bronze dragon fifty years ago who so _conveniently_ left their possessions from the future unsecured and allowing me to… indulge in their research. There is a device called a _microscope_ which will be invented — "

"You stole it?" Sam's foggy mind struggled to concentrate. What had they been talking about before the dragon led her off track?

"I redistributed it."

"To yourself."

"Yes, and?"

Suddenly a trill filled the air and a flutter of wings heralded Jettion's arrival. Sabellian snatched the whelp out of the air. "Damn it, I don't need _you_ pulling out the tubes either!"

"How did you find me?" said Samia.

His glower could have killed plants, and his tone was too meaningful for Samia's liking. "A _whelp_ woke me up." He dumped his nephew on a table. "Thank you, by the way, for _screaming in my face_. It was so kind of you to ensure I was awake."

Oh. The dragon in the cave _had_ been male… when he'd flown away, it must have been for medical supplies. "Uh. Sorry about that. I didn't see you until the last moment… everyone thought you were dead."

"They _always_ think I'm dead at some point or another."

Sabellian was much… crankier… than Onyxia had made him out to be. But then… _when life gave him lemons, he squeezed them in someone's eye._

_That_ sounded like the man in front of her.

"So why did you toss me against the wall of the gorge?" she looked down at her left wrist, tight in a splint. Compared to her chest, the pain was only a twinge.

"Because you were an idiot?" He raised his eyebrows. "What in the name of the Titans possessed you to _throw rocks at a gronn? _It was either a broken wrist or a broken body, and still you managed to achieve both. Congratulations, you're a moron."

"He was going to hurt Jettion!"

"And the life of a whelp is more valuable since _when_? It's only a whelp."

No, it wasn't, and they both knew that. He was testing her. Jettion hissed.

"He's a child," said Samia. "I would have acted that way if any other child had done the same."

"Interesting." But was that the flicker of a smile that Sam saw on his face, before he turned back to his workbench?

Suddenly, Samia's clouded mind remembered something. She looked down on herself. "I'm pretty sure my ribcage wasn't intact."

Sabellian waved his hand dismissively, but didn't answer. So she pushed. "Did you fix it? How? I… from what I can remember I had _flail chest_. That means it shattered into pieces — "

"Damn it, whelp, I'm a doctor, I know what flail chest is!"

"Nobody's ever survived that!"

"That's because most priests throw magic at wounds and cry and let people die when it doesn't work, because old fashioned non-magical healing is considered _beneath them_, an art practiced only by the uneducated." Sabel moved to the other work bench, and Samia's fascinated eyes watched as he tended to a brewing potion. She'd always wanted to learn alchemy… "Flail chest is more complicated because the ribs float out of place, and it's impossible to set ribs through non-magical means."

Uh oh. Here came another lecture.

"Healing flail chest with magic is quite a bad idea because the natural healing process allows the ribs to become flexible even as they heal, through deep, if painful, breathing. Healing it instantly sets them in place which creates a feeling of suffocation and breathing problems because the ribs haven't been allowed to expand — "

"Fuck, can you give me a summary?"

"Impetuous little…" He glared at her again. Jettion, sitting on the table, thumped his tail against the surface like a little dog as he watched. "I had to move them back into place."

"Move them back into place? How did you do _that_?"

"Magic. Telekinesis. Most people never lived long enough to learn it. And a very good knowledge of human anatomy. Forgive the pain, there was nothing I could do to put you under that wouldn't have risked your life at the time."

_Oh_. He hadn't been torturing her, he'd been saving her life.

He spoke again. "I would say 'at least you have built a pain tolerance', but that would be a lie. It's a myth, we actually grow more sensitive to pain, but we do develop better cognitive coping strategies from — "

"You waffle on like Nalice when she's speaking about Black Dragon supremacy."

Jettion snickered. Sabellian turned a glare on her over his shoulder, before he returned to his work. "Your screaming, though it curdled my blood, had _one_ good effect." Sabellian measured a vial, pouring a sluggish liquid into another. It bubbled and turned grey. "It brought a rogue running by the name of Leo. Of course, out of _all_ the people in Outland, it had to be _the_ one human who had discovered my identity because of my favourite daughter ever. Now he knows there's a dragon near Ruuan Weld! _Astounding_, it's not as if I'd been flying around for twenty years beforehand! Oh, _wait a second_…"

"I see."

"I hear you are looking for a dragon by the name of Maleficent."

The sudden change in subject had her reeling for a moment. Samia lowered herself back onto the table and underneath the blankets, too tired to hold herself up to look at him any longer. "How did Leo know that?"

"He did not, to my knowledge." She heard something fizz. "But as it turns out, I am hard-pressed to get you to _shut up_ when you're feverish."

"So this is payback?"

He ignored her. "Apparently you are fond of dragons, when you're not trying to kill each other."

She sighed. Then she coughed again. "Yes, I'm looking for Maleficent. Her daughter sent me."

"You will not find her."

"She has gone back through the Dark Portal?"

"No." Something else fizzed. Louder. She smelled some acrid stench. "No Black dragon here is strong enough to make such a journey, or we would not live in such close proximity to the gronn, do you think we're _stupid_? Maleficent died thirteen years ago, but she lived the longest out of the females, with the exception of Obsidia, whose territory is far from here."

Samia wondered if Nalice could hear them through her soulstone, or would Nalice kill her now that she knew Maleficent, her beloved mother, was dead? "What of her grimoire? Nalice… wants it."

"The gronn took — " a Draconic swearword as something broke. "That's the _fifth _damn vial today — the wyrmcult took it after they betrayed the Flight following Maleficent's death, and now it is in the hands of the gronn. I may be able to retrieve it, but I would need assistance. And _you_ are not in any condition to go flying after gronn. Although, next time, you may as well offer yourself up on a silver platter and save us all the trouble — "

"Do you make a habit of sleeping where they can easily get you?" In spite of the pain, Sam smiled.

"No, there are anti-gronn wards over the Circle of Blood and that particular cave so I can take shelter without dying an agonising death." He sniffed. "At least, until you and Jettion woke it up crashing through the gorge like a couple of hellions and led it _straight to me_. My spell can't prevent _stupid_. Thank you for that, by the way."

"Black dragons usually like me, you know, when I'm not putting them in mortal danger."

"And from the sounds of it, it is a habit of yours." Samia turned her head to see his nose wrinkling. "Perhaps I should leave you to the raptors and save myself the trouble before you blow up Blade's Edge."

At another curse and shattering of glass, Samia said, "Sounds like you're the only one likely to blow up the place."

"Of course not, 'tis a stereotype that mixing chemicals causes things to blow up constantly. What I just produced is a gas fatal when inhaled by orcs and an acid capable of — "

"You should probably clean that up, then."

"I can tell I am going to _enjoy_ the weeks ahead whilst you recover," Sabellian growled. She heard his robes rustle as he knelt and dabbed at the stone. "As far as I am concerned — "

"Sam!"

"_Interrupting whelp!_" Sabellian snarled in Draconic as Leo ran into the room.

"Sam, you're alright!" Leo took his sisters hands in one, pressing the palm of another to her forehead. "Your fever's almost gone!" He aimed a glare at the cranky dragon. "Thank you, but your services are no longer required — "

Sabellian spat something else in Draconic, but this time Sam didn't recognise the words, before he switched back to Common. "Moving her at this stage is far too dangerous."

"I'd rather she kept away from the Black Dragonflight."

"Ah, yes, because the whelp is perfectly incapable of making her own decisions, no?"

"Onyxia took advantage of her when she was in a bad place."

"Yes, because you didn't do what you should have, if I recalled correctly." Sabellian crossed his arms. "She is not moving. She still has an infection and will attract raptors as if you'd covered her in raw meat."

"What, so you can induct her into your wyrmcult when she feels better?" Leo straightened up, mirroring Sabellian's posture. "Hell _no_."

"As a matter of fact, the wyrmcult's actions are not sanctioned by the Black Flight." Sabellian narrowed his eyes. "After Maleficent's death, they proceeded to steal our knowledge and rebel. They are just as obsessed as my father's flight with their warped ideas of _strength_ and rejected me as patron. That worship of a useless quality is almost as bad as a religion, except they don't worship it like most of humanity does."

"… Is that a dig at the Light?"

"Certainly. Humans began to worship what's known as 'holy magic' because of a lack of understanding of a form of magic that simply had the ability to heal, and — "

Onyxia had never mentioned how easily distracted her brother was. Sam struggled to sit up. "I want to stay here."

Sabellian stopped talking. Leo whipped around. "Sam, _what_? Please — "

"I owe the Flight. Even if I didn't, Nalice made it explicitly clear she'd get me killed if I didn't fetch her something — "

"Ah." Sabellian started talking again. "The old Soulstone trick? She's done _that_ before, it's merely a scrying spell with frills. It's practically tradition for her to pull that every once in a while on a mortal."

Sam blinked. "Oh."

"In any case, you owe me," said Sabellian. "Therefore, you shall help me with my little wyrmcult problem, and your sibling can go about his own business without insisting he knows better than his sister does. And, Withering, do not attempt to threaten me. I have many friends in the Mok'Nathal who would be quite displeased if they discovered the Cenarion Expedition attempted to eliminate me. Leave us, right now if you please. You may visit her if the urge takes you. This is the safest place for her to be."

Leo sighed, and squeezed Sam's hand. "When you change your mind, Sam… I'll help you get out. I promise."

And with that, the rogue left.

"Finally," said Sabellian. "I have a question for you, Samia."

"Yes?" Sam pulled the covers tighter over her. She felt chilly, all of a sudden.

"When you were feverish your brother mentioned Onyxia. Specifically, that she is dead. Is this true? I attempted to entice Jettion into talking but he rarely speaks, I have found, and the subject of his mother clamps him up."

She turned ahead to look at him. He held her eyes with a hard gaze, but as he looked away she thought she glimpsed the same despair she'd seen in Onyxia's eyes when she'd spoken of him, so long ago.

Sabellian had already lost most, if not all of his brood. To hear that he'd lost his closest sibling, so soon before the Dark Portal had opened, would only be salt in the wounds…

Onyxia had known him before he'd suffered such loss. No wonder he was so much more sarcastic and venemous than Samia had imagined. The wise Sabel he'd once been had been hardened at last, hidden beneath layers of cynicism and nastiness.

What would Onyxia think, if she saw him now? Saw him clinging to the possibility of her survival just like she had once clung to his, a single flickering light in a dark storm?

"Yes," she said quietly. "She's dead."

Jettion whimpered.

"I see." Sabellian's voice was quiet. "Rest. I am done in here and shan't disturb you."

_Don't go_. She liked him. He never shut up but he was Onyxia's brother, she owed him more than her life…

But he was already gone. She sighed, and then coughed again. She felt sore. Her throat throbbed, and she took another drink from the vial he'd given her. Warmth seeped through her. Jettion fluttered to her and curled up beside her aching head.

As she faded into sleep, feeling better than she had in a long time, far away she heard the mournful call of a dragon.


	44. INTERLUDE III: Wrath of the Lich King

**_A/N:_**_One more interlude to go, then we're up to part two in Jan! Thanks to my betas, **Coincidencless** and **Diloph**._

* * *

**Interlude III**

**Wrath of the Lich King**

_**One year into the Northrend Campaign.**_

* * *

_I hope I can… stay the same,_

_Stop the bleed inside and feel again,_

_Cut the chain of lies you've been feeding my veins —_

_I've got nothing to say to you._

Saeed — Infected Mushroom.

* * *

Silence. Tense, thick, suffocating silence, broken only by the sound of the tent's flap twisting in the Northrend breeze.

Then Leo's voice. "Permission to speak freely?"

Bolvar didn't answer for a moment. "Oh, for Light's sake, Leo. Who's going to hear but me?"

"The Wrathgate is the stupidest idea Varian's ever come up with."

With the last of the Alliance commanders gone, Leo and Bolvar stood alone inside the tent, a map spread on the table between them. There was still an hour to go before Bolvar was expected to address the troops, and while the rest of the camp made ready, Bolvar stared at the parchment as if the ink lines would betray a better plan. He clenched his fists and ignored the lump in his throat. "It's the _least_ stupid idea of all the ones we've had, to be frank."

"What, march up to a solid gate and just _knock_?" Leo crossed his arms and shivered as a stronger gust blew in. The map, pinned to the table by four knives, didn't stir. "Arthas would have to be a complete moron to blow a hole in his security by answering the door!"

"We're playing on his stupidity, actually..." Bolvar gazed at the sheer metal wall through the tent flap. The chill blew in, seeding ice crystals in his hair. "But you're right. It's a terrible idea. Still, if he doesn't open up we'll just blow the thing up. Get the Horde to hire enough goblins and it's be bound to happen by _accident_ sooner or later anyway." He tried to smile. "Did you hear those explosions last night? Apparently they've been blowing up lemons when they're bored. Which is all the time — " Damn it, he was babbling. He willed his fluttering heart to slow. "We've got engineers on standby to examine it, anyway."

"We don't even know what that gate's _made_ of." Leo's voice was quiet.

"If you've got a better idea, I'd sure love to hear it." Bolvar's armour clinked as he crossed his arms as well. "Leo, there's four other ways into Icecrown. One is, we fly everyone in, risking annihilation at the claws of those frostwyrms. The Skybreaker's construction hasn't even been completed, and it's the most expensive construction _to date_. We do not have the materials to build enough ships to carry us in there, and the process could take _years_. The Skybreaker was commissioned over a year ago now — "

"Alright, alright," said Leo. "Slow down. What about Sholazar? That's not a bad — "

"The avalanche is crawling with undead, and that's after a long trek through unnatural humidity probably teeming with unnatural tropical diseases," said Bolvar. "The journey through the Storm Peaks would require scaling sheer cliffs or flying over — which, as I've pointed out, we don't have the resources for. And that leaves going through Crystalsong and possibly provoking an attack on Dalaran by the Scourge's frostwyrms. Oh, and scouts say the glacier's crawling so deeply with undead they may as well be piled up on top of each other." Bolvar shook his head. His palms were sticky with sweat. "This is the _least_ stupid option."

"You cannot honestly think this will work." Leo scowled.

"It has to. There's no other way." Bolvar leaned over the map. "If we can wipe out the undead in front of this gate and get the engineers to inspect that gate, we may have a lead. Maybe Arthas will even come out to play."

"Not if he's got brains." Leo perched on the edge of the table, turning the map to face him.

"It's not accurate." Bolvar's eyes settled on the parchment. "Icecrown has never been mapped before this, and it's got so many blank parts."

"Maybe when this is all over someone will take the time to map it properly," said Leo.

"Maybe one of the mercs will." Bolvar shrugged a shoulder. "If this assault goes well, we'll be months ahead of schedule." He sighed. "I can't wait to go home. When this is done, I'm retiring, to hell with Varian."

"I was in Stormwind the other day." Leo drummed his fingers on the map. "Jensen teleported me there and back."

Bolvar glanced up at him. "Did you — ?"

Leo laughed. "What kind of godfather would I be if I didn't visit your little girl?"

Bolvar's chest tightened. "How is she?"

Leo frowned. "It's been six months since you left. She's grown a lot, it might be a shock… "

Might be a shock. As if it wasn't one every time he saw her, with sharp features that weren't his and familiar dark hair which sent a pang through him every time he saw it. "I worry about little Starshine," said Bolvar. "I shouldn't have left her. I almost didn't, but… I had a debt to Stormwind to repay, after my mistakes." He shook his head. "As Varian pointed out."

What if he died here? What if he never went home? What if she was left all alone? Even leaving her with dragons would be better than her growing up in a society she'd never fit into… not with her little _problems_. He'd never say it aloud, but Black dragons would be able to handle her violent temper better than humans could… immediately, he suppressed a guilty twinge. How could he _think_ such a thing? The dragons would just kill her and toss her aside! They might be a society of sociopaths, but they wouldn't tolerate a human in their midst, no matter how much like them she was. "How has her behaviour been? Has she acted out again?"

"We should wait until after the assault's done." Leo straightened. "I don't want to worry you."

"_Leo_." What if there wasn't an after?

Leo sighed. "Fine. I won't lie to you. The older she gets, the less Varian likes her. I keep telling him that she's sick, but you know what he's like if Anduin so much as trips over, let alone if someone hurts him…"

Oh no. Not again. "Is he alright?"

"Anduin's got a heart of gold, he's not angry at all." Leo smiled ruefully. "If anything he's trying desperately to help her. He sticks to her like glue, he knows her heritage does her no favours."

Anduin. Thank the Light for _Anduin_. If something happened to him, at least she'd have ever-patient Anduin… "She's only three." Bolvar rubbed his thumbs in circles on his temples. "She's too young to fight this curse, especially alone. I should never have come out here. Saya needs me home. How badly hurt was he?"

"He was a bit lightheaded for a few days," Leo said. At the shocked look Bolvar gave him, he said, "Yeah, she somehow got hold of _another_ knife, got him in the leg. Anduin was actually pretty impressed, though Varian blew a gasket at her."

Bolvar shook his head again. As if yelling at the girl would help; it would only alienate her further. _He had to go home_. "Did she blame Samia again for knowing how to use a knife?"

"'Aunt Sammy'? Yep. Although I'm hoping it's a different Samantha."

As if. "You and me both, pal."

Saya had never met her, and yet she often mentioned "Aunt Sammy." Somewhere, in the distant future, that traitorous bitch might have talked to his daughter…

_Somewhere, in the distant future, Saya will meet the Black Flight. She talks about them all the time, and if she knows Samantha, it's only logical…_

Bolvar jerked himself out of his thoughts and scowled. "What am I paying that seer for? Saya's old enough she should start to know the difference between — "

"The seer can't help, though." Leo ran a hand through his hair. "Saya _can't_ tell the difference between the future, present and past, no matter how hard the seer tries. She remembers things that'll happen ten years from now and things that happened in alternate timelines that'll never happen in this one. Last week she acted like an infant. Last _month_ she insisted she was an adult and wanted to know where…"

Silence. Bolvar closed his eyes. Suddenly the lead weight in his heart had nothing to do with the battle ahead.

"Fuck, shouldn't have said that." Leo frowned. "Bolvar, I think…"

"I know."

"What?"

"She's been asking after Onyxia ever since she could talk." He rubbed his temple with the heel of his hand. "Even before then, sometimes I'd see her looking around as if searching for her. Hardly a day went by without me hearing, _hey, where's Onyxia gone?_" He smiled weakly. "She calls her a demented owl sometimes. Never told me why."

Leo blinked at him. "You never mentioned that before."

"There wasn't any need to." Varian probably heard it all the time himself now.

"Someone must have taken her place in the Wyrmbog, and she's just been undercover all these years."

Bolvar shook his head. "I felt her die, Leo. I _felt_ it." The connection hadn't been severed, but she'd _died_. Her magic had been powerful enough that the bond hadn't died with her, and it craved her like a penniless alcoholic yearning for his poison. It knew she was gone, but knew not _where_, and never stopped reaching out for her.

The magic had been so powerful that she had barely been able to control it while she was alive. If she was out there, it would have found her.

At first after her death, he barely dreamed anymore. Sometimes he did, and he dreamed of grey plains where he searched for something he'd never find, searched until he forgot what he was looking for. Sometimes he dreamed of hundreds of tiny spirits that surrounded him and crooned to him, or sang a haunting song of trills and coos. Sometimes he dreamed of despair, of a person he needed but couldn't remember, of a missed connection that could never be re-established. Sometimes he dreamed of her voice. _I was so sure you'd be here. Where are you?_

On one of those nights, he woke up in a Stormwind so quiet it might be dead. He left Saya with an insomniac Miss Perin and walked for hours, until dawn found him at the Valley of Kings underneath the arches, staring up at the head that hung in chains. The hollows where the insects had eaten out her eyes stared through him. Her once-vivid scales were dull, only a bare tinge of violet remaining. A thief had climbed up and sawn off one of her horns only a month ago, and had never been found. The horn hung over some rich noble's mantlepiece by now, no doubt.

One day, Saya had been with him after a day out at the Trade District, and she'd run off. He'd found her under that arch, staring up at her mother's head, before she casually said, "That horn looks heavy. Makes her look like a demented owl," as if she wasn't a year and a half old at the time.

Which, come to think of it, she probably hadn't been. "An owl? She doesn't look anything like an owl."

Saya had giggled. "Yeah, she does! Like she's about to fall over."

Bolvar had raised an eyebrow at the head above. Thankfully, the chains seemed to be intact.

Lately, he'd dreamed of her again. The various battles of Northrend brought memories of the Second War rushing back, brought back nightmares of dying comrades and the clang of swords. And in those nightmares where he fought orcs in a shattered Stormwind, he always looked up and saw her hulking on a ruined wall. Sometimes she was in the form of Katrana Prestor, sometimes she was a dragon. _What?_ she'd said to him the first time, her head tilted. When he remembered this, it brought back Saya's chubby face and her comparison of an owl… _I am dead, you are not. Haunting you is the only thing I can do, and so haunt you until your dying breath I shall! Do not complain, at least I didn't wipe out _your_ people._

… _I thought you were better than that, Bolvar. I really did._

He didn't dream of the man in orange robes anymore. Not since she died.

Leo would not understand. He'd think that Bolvar _missed_ her, that the bond's yearning was just an excuse. _Yeah, Leo. Nothing says romance like having her almost destroy an entire kingdom, violate and control my mind, and _make_ me want to be constantly near her with a bond so potent that not even her death got rid of it. Gee, I miss her!_

… He missed Kat, though. He missed the person he thought she'd been, missed her wry smirks and cutting jabs, her silence as she read a book as she curled up next to him. Whenever he did, he remembered the dreams, remembered the Defias, remembered the voices that had plagued his mind for _months_ because of her…

"I was hoping you'd get married again one day," Leo muttered sullenly. "I hoped that 'Auntie Sammy' would be the sister of your new wide, that 'Uncle Eduard' was just a coincidence…" He frowned deeply. "She sometimes mentions someone called Wrathion. Who's that?"

"I've heard her mention Wrathion before. That's a Black dragon name." Bolvar's heart sank further. "Perhaps there's another Saya in some alternate timeline. One that grew up knowing Onyxia and her kin."

He hoped. The thought of _any_ Saya knowing Onyxia was bad enough, but it was better than the thought of…

Bolvar glanced towards Icecrown, and suppressed a shudder. The Lich King had been resurrecting dead dragons lately, he'd seen magmawyrms circling the Obsidian Dragonshrine until dear, sweet little Nalice sent a few mercenaries to clear the shrine of undead… thank the Light Onyxia's head was safely in Stormwind, and that what remained of Nalice's kin hadn't attempted to take it back. "Who the hell is _Eduard_?"

"Um," said Leo. "If she's calling Samia _Auntie_…"

Leo trailed off. Bolvar tried a different tack. "How _is_ 'Baron Sablemane' and his _lovely_ assistant, by the way? Are you still trying to drag her into an honest life by the hair? Leo, it's not going to work."

"Save the lecture. I'm not even sure if she's alive, or if Saya's referring to a version of her in an alternate timeline." Leo's expression soured. "She vanished a few weeks after the incident with Norris."

Norris? The name seemed familiar to Bolvar. "Wasn't that Amandine's father?"

"Yep."

"He's crept out from the woodwork, has he?"

"Bloody hell, I didn't tell you? He died _years_ ago."

"Obviously not. What happened?"

"I told you about Sam's injury, didn't I?" said Leo. "Even with magic it took Sam months to recover. Afterwards, when she was back in Ruuan Weld doing that damn lizard's work, Norris showed up. He'd become a merc, joined another guild, picked himself back up. He'd become a pretty decent warlock, always did his work from what I heard from his friends, very efficient. Hours after she hightailed it to the Circle of Blood, he disappeared. So did she. She turned up again a few nights later."

* * *

**The Burning Crusade**

_**Six months into the Outland Campaign**_

* * *

Samia appeared like a ghost in the night.

There was no moon the night that Leo and Lana sat around the bonfire with Tree Warden Chawn like the night of their first Blade's Edge storm, but this time the darkness lacked the heaviness of clouds and no thunder shattered the air. A faint breeze stirred. Leo hadn't heard her when she approached, neither did Lana's wolf, and it wasn't until a twig cracked right beside them in the shadows that Leo jumped and saw her.

Conversation around the fire halted. She stared at them, face blank, before she said, "I apologise, Tree Warden, for my absence. My master required my presence urgently at the Circle of Blood."

"Yeah," Lana muttered. "Like hell he did."

Samia's expression didn't change as her eyes flickered to Lana. Did she feel bad, Leo wondered? Was she trying to stave away the soul-eating guilt of being responsible for ending another life?

Chawn rose from his place by the fire. Samia didn't even flinch, although the tauren's height had always intimidated her before. "Samia Inkling," he said. "I require a word. Alone."

"We can speak here," said Samia. "I'd rather not go into the dark with a massive creature like you alone."

Lana's eyes widened, and she and Leo exchanged glances. Leo pressed his lips together.

Chawn gazed at her for a moment in unflinching silence before he spoke. "As it should happen, these two have been assisting me, so perhaps you will not object to their presence. A murder has taken place, and given what Miss Lana and Master Leo here have told me about your past, it seems you may be responsible."

"Really?" Still no change of expression. Leo caught a glint of yellow; the reflection of the firelight in the eyes of the whelp that hovered behind her shoulder. Jettion hadn't grown an inch in months. How long did it take for whelps to become fully grown? He'd heard everything from two years to fifty, although there was no possible way it could be the former, unless Jettion was doomed to be as small as his mother.

Wait. Eyes? Leo peered into the darkness. No. _Eye_. What had happened to the whelp's other eye? He couldn't see in this darkness, but one of his eyes were definitely missing and the shadows around it mangled, as if the scales were scarred…

Sam's cold voice broke into his thoughts. "What makes you think that, I wonder?"

"You are associated with Norris Abraham, I believe?"

"Unfortunately." Still that dead tone of voice. Still that blank expression. Not even Jettion made a sound, as if he felt the wariness that permeated the air like the stink of the soaked hessian bag the mercs had brought back days ago…

"His body was found in the gorge the morning after your master appears to have sent for you." Chawn raised a shaggy eyebrow. He didn't buy it either. "Rather, bits and pieces of him were. We've yet to recover all of his limbs. Did you know he'd been dismembered?"

"Raptors fight over dead mercs all the time," said Samia. "Carry off a hand or an arm or two, spirit them away to dens all over the place. I'm surprised you found him at all."

"You don't sound surprised he's _dead_."

"As I said. Raptors." Finally, a subtle inflection in her voice. Annoyance? Defensiveness? "They're always killing mercs. Why are you so surprised?"

"The teeth marks were _far_ too big to be raptors," said Chawn. "They were so big we didn't even realise they were teeth marks at first. That was a _dragon_ that got him, Inkling."

"Wanna bet which one, Sam?" said Lana.

Sam's eyes narrowed as she tensed, flickering over to Lana.

"What I find interesting is that apparently Sablemane likes to sprout wings and fly in his spare time," said Chawn. "As you told us yourself three months ago, Sabellian is the only dragon whose territory covers the gorge and Ruuan Weld, therefore it's highly likely he's the one who killed Norris Abraham. What _I'm _curious about is why Abraham was scattered all over the valley. Sabellian's a dragon, he could've simply devoured him."

"Dragon's don't eat garbage," Sam deadpanned.

"Neither could we guess why he didn't dispose of the body elsewhere," said Chawn. "No. We were meant to find Norris Abraham, and we were supposed to blame the dragon, and if it weren't for Lana' and Leonardo's information I would have left it at that. You _set_ him on Norris, didn't you?"

"Sabellian would be _quite_ miffed to hear that you seem to think he's at my beck and call like a dog."

"And yet you seem to be at his," Lana remarked.

"My grudges are none of his damn business," said Samia. "And neither would he care."

Finally, Leo spoke. "Baron Sablemane had never even met Norris," he said. "He wouldn't have any personal issue with him. Not unless you dragged him into it. Sometimes I wonder, Sam, who's manipulating who? Maybe you manipulated the dragons all along."

"I'm not here to be a good person," said Sam. "I'm here to help you with your damn wyrmcult, Chawn, and before you say it, they don't listen to a damn word Sablemane says, so don't accuse me of being a double agent on _their_ behalf. If you want the help, you know where to find me. If not — I never ordered Sabellian to kill Norris; if he did, that has nothing to do with me. As far as I'm concerned, you can't prove a damn thing, so there is _nothing you can do_. Sabellian doesn't involve himself in my affairs, but if you take his assistant from him he'll be damn pissed off at you, I can assure you."

"Are you threatening us, Inkling?" said Chawn.

"Damn right I am."

And with that, she stormed off into the darkness with the whelp trailing after her. When a guard touched the hilt of their sword, Chawn flung out an arm and shook his head. "She is right," he said. "It is best we do not provoke Sabellian. We have had something of an arrangement with the alchemist. For now, we investigate his ties with the Wyrmcult. If it is as Samia says and the Wyrmcult are independent of him, we shall continue to use him. If not, we will… deal with him."

"I'd like to see you try," came Samia's voice from the darkness. "_Nobody_ finds Sabellian when he doesn't want to be found."

"We must tread carefully," Chawn lowered his voice. "We do not have the numbers to fight against the entire Black Flight out here _and_ the Wyrmcult…"

"Sam." Leo stood up and ran into the darkness. He heard the crunch of leaves ahead of him, reached out, touched a shoulder —

— And narrowly avoided a punch to the face. "Fuck, Sam, it's just me!"

In the dim shadows he saw her eyes widen for a split second before fury overtook her. "What the hell do _you_ want? Haven't you got the fucking message that I'm not leaving Blade's Edge? That I'm not leaving the Black Flight? Convenient you didn't tell Sabellian what you did to his sister when I was sick, isn't it? If you ever bother me again I'll make sure he finds out."

Her brief, fearful expression remained burned into his mind. "Norris hurt you again, didn't he?" he said.

Jettion snarled.

"So you killed him," said Leo. "And the dragon offered to take the blame for you, because _no_ dragon does what a human tells it to, so he must have offered. He left the body in Blade's Edge so they'd find it, and blame him instead of you. But it backfired because of what Lana and I know, and so the Expedition knows you're responsible anyway. What happened to Jettion's eye? Did Norris hurt him when Jet tried to defend you?"

"Is this your way of trying to force me to come back to the fold, is it?" hissed Sam. "Betray Baron Sablemane, inspire the mercs to form a raid and kill him, just like you killed Onyxia? So that I have no choice but to return with you?"

Pain exploded in him. Sam slammed a knee into his groin, a heel over the arch of his foot, and the base of her hand connected with his nose, leaving him doubled over and bleeding. "Rot in hell, _you son of a_ _bitch_," Sam snarled, before she whipped around and vanished into the night, with only the flutter of wings to mark her departure.

* * *

**Wrath of the Lich King**

_**One year into the Northrend Campaign**_

* * *

"Wow," said Bolvar. "I wonder if that dragon of hers knows she betrayed the Black Dragonflight, in the end. Bet she wouldn't be alive if he did."

But Leo stared at his boots. "If I'd done better — "

"Will you _stop_ blaming yourself?" said Bolvar. "She's not coming back, Leo. She was too far gone by the time Onyxia got her, and Amandine's death just sealed it. She's not coming back."

"I wish I'd taken her off Sabellian's hands when I had the chance," said Leo. "When she was injured… I might've been able to take her off him, then. But I didn't. Because Black dragon or not, he knew what he was doing… _stupid_." He shook his head. "I rarely saw her after that. She was in Ruuan Weld for a few weeks after, then vanished. They couldn't prove that she set Sabellian on Norris, they found evidence that the Wyrmcult was working _against_ Sabellian so the Cenarion Expedition kept her on, if only to keep an eye on her… but Norris had friends. Angry friends. I think they got to her, nobody ever found a body and nobody dared go down to the Circle of Blood to check if she was there. I don't think he spirited her away to protect her; why would a Black dragon do that? He only tried to protect her from murder so he could still use her."

Before Bolvar could reply a shout broke out outside, amid the thundering of footfalls. "_Don't kill me, please don't kill me!_"

"What the — " Leo drew his weapon. Bolvar snatched his sword and dashed from the tent.

"_I'm not insane, I just — SHUT UP! Please, help me, don't kill me, I never did anything wrong!_"

Partway down the hill Bolvar came across a ring of guards, swords out, guns cocked. "What's going on?" he snapped, shouldering his way through.

In the center of the circle cowered an undead man.

No, he was no man, Bolvar saw as the undead looked up, dark hair falling over his eyes. He was a _boy_, barely an adult. How old was he? Seventeen? Eighteen, perhaps? Around Sam's age when she'd been exiled? "Please," the undead croaked. "I never did anything wrong."

"You just trespassed upon an Alliance encampment, therefore forfeiting your life." But Bolvar sheathed his sword. "If it weren't for the necessity of working together with the Horde across the valley, I would slay you on the spot."

"_I never did anything wrong!_" said the undead. "I'm Alliance, for Light's sake, what, do you think I'm Scourge? I'm not Scourge! I'm — " He slammed his palms over his ears, shut his eyes and shrieked, "_Shut up!_"

The sudden yell had everyone jump, but miraculously none of the dwarves in their company pulled the triggers of their guns. "Explain yourself," said Bolvar. "Now."

"I'm sorry!" The undead lowered his hands. "I didn't mean to, I just — " He jerked and covered his ears again, bellowing, "_I said shut up! Go away — " _He jerked again as if waking from a nightmare. "No!" he piped. He forced his hands by his side and attempted to straighten his back, but couldn't quite lose his cringe. "I'm not insane, I swear, I didn't mean to tell _you_ to go away! I don't want to be rude, sirs! Please forgive me!"

"The insane never realise they're insane," snorted Leo. Bolvar shot him an annoyed look.

"I just want to go home," said the undead. "I've been under the Lich King's control for so, so long, and I was conscious for every moment of it. Most were mindless, but there were a few like me who knew what happened, but I couldn't control myself. None of us could. But I finally broke _free_, and — " He whimpered and screwed his eyes closed. "_Shut up!" _They opened again, his fists uncurled. "I just — people keep trying to kill me! I just want to go home, I — " He sobbed. "_Shut up, go away, go away!_" He buried his head in his hands and groaned, "I look like a lunatic, don't I? I'm just sick… so sick of…"

"What's your name?" said Bolvar.

"Eduard, sir." It seemed like a great effort for the undead to straighten up again and put his hands by his sides. He twitched, but didn't cry out again.

"Eduard?" said Leo. "Eduard Von Andorhal?"

"Yes, sir." The undead seemed calmer. "Do I know you? I did work for a noble family — "

"Well, fuck."

"Not that kind of work, s — " He flinched. "_Shut up, damn it! Fuck you!_ — " He whimpered, and hugged himself. "Er, not you, sirs. Pardon my Thalassian."

Bolvar and Leo exchanged looks, before Bolvar looked back to Eduard. "Are you with the Black Dragonflight?" Fel, they were _right next door_ to their shrine. "Is one of them controlling you? Or speaking to you?"

"What? No!" Eduard looked at them pleadingly. "I just want to go home. Please. Back to Andorhal."

"You're missing almost ten years, mate," said Leo at last. "Andorhal's gone, so's the rest of Lordaeron."

"No, not to him." Bolvar glanced at Leo for a moment. "The Tirisfal Glades belong to the Forsaken. You're not alone, Eduard. Other undead have broken free of the Lich King. They're with the Horde now."

Eduard's brows raised, and Bolvar was sure if the undead _had_ eyes they'd be wide as saucers. "What, as in _orcs_? I finally find out after all these years I'm not alone, but my people are allied with _the enemy_? I may as well have stayed Scourge!"

"The orcs and Stormwind are still at odds, as we have always been," said Bolvar. "But right now we work together to defeat a common enemy — the Scourge. Arthas' death grows nigh. Your people are not close with the orcs, but you may find yourself reunited with friends from life there, perhaps even family."

Beside him, Leo coughed.

"I'm afraid that Lordaeron and Stormwind are at odds, now," said Bolvar. "Stormwind… did not do enough during the Third War, were not willing to ally with what we thought were Scourge. And so your people took refuge with orcs."

"Oh. So that's why you all _really_ wanted to stab me." Eduard looked crestfallen. But suddenly he perked, though his smile still looked sad. "Thank you, sirs. For all your help." His body jerked, one of his eyelids twitched and he raised his hands again as if to cover his ears. But then he relaxed, before sweeping over in a posh bow. "I'm very much in your debt."

After the guards escorted the undead out to trek through the snow towards the Horde encampment, Leo said, "I didn't think Saya meant _that_ Eduard. There have to be a thousand different Eduards out there, she might not even mean _this_ one. Small world?"

Bolvar arched an eyebrow as they stepped back into the tent. "Why would she mean _that_ particular Eduard?"

"Well, she calls Sam her aunt…"

"… Don't tell me."

"Remember when I was a teenager and my Dad and I were in Andorhal, and when I came back I told you I'd had to find a home for my baby half sibling?"

Bolvar stopped in his tracks. "You're _joking_."

"Nope. That was him. 'Von Andorhal' — Dad didn't want him coming back to find us. He was an unoriginal bastard."

"Do you _collect_ long lost siblings or something?"

"Something like that."

"Please tell me this one isn't evil. How many bloody siblings do you _have_?"

"Uh, I honestly don't know, Dad did a lot of convenient relocating whenever one of his affairs got too heated." Leo glanced towards the Wrathgate. "It's almost time. Stay safe. Saya needs you."

His nerves returned in force. He'd forgotten to be anxious when the undead appeared. "I know," said Bolvar. "Varian doesn't know how to handle her."

Leo clapped him on the shoulder. "Then let's finish getting ready."

"Leo," said Bolvar. "I don't want you to fight."

Leo almost stopped in his tracks. "_What_? I know I'm not part of the army, but -"

"We're keeping all the mercs up here." As they reached the top of the hill, Bolvar gestured to the cliff's edge that overlooked the Wrathgate. Below, Scourge swarmed at its base. A necromancer held Bolvar's eye. "For all we know, there could be a bigger army than we're ready to face on the other side. I need someone I trust with a bird's eye view. The mercs will listen to you, leave everything else to my lieutenants."

"Alright." Leo sighed. "But you'll be fine. Arthas won't come out, you'll find yourself standing outside Angra'thar looking up at the Wrathgate and feeling like an idiot for yelling at it."

"Light," said Bolvar. "I certainly hope not."

-o-O-o-

_We're finished. No escape... for any of us._

_Acid scorches his lungs and sears his skin. His vision blurs as his eyes begin to melt in their sockets, but not before he raises them to see the people on the cliff, his friend's wide eyes, watching as they cry out in horror._

_Because all he can hear as he falls back are screams and the explosions of catapults, and all he can see are glittering red birds, and as his world fades away all he can think of is his baby girl, left alone in a world she will never know how to cope with, with neither human nor dragon to guide her but those still scarred from her mother's sins…_

_He feels something as his spirit fades from his body. Something familiar. The bond flares anew for the first time in years. And with it, comes the tentacles, corruption, the nightmares that twist inside him that have slept for far too long…_

_The Taint he thought he'd left behind long ago begins to speak. 'Never dying. Never dying. Never dying.'_

_And then his world is set aflame._

'_She waits for you, waits for you to meet your judgement, and judge you she will. You took her children from her. You took her life from her. You took her brood and family, and she will never forgive you.'_

_His body is on fire, and everything hurts as he's ripped away from a dead dragon's clutches, brought back to life, the bond returning to hungry dormancy, always craving, always yearning._

'_The Reds won't let you die! You'll always suffer at the hands of dragons!'_

_And then a new voice. The Lich King's voice._

"Bolvar Fordragon."


	45. INTERLUDE IV: Cataclysm

_**A/N:** Here, have an early update. This chapter is for **Zeitlos** and **Wanda Von Dunayev**, for their encouragement! Thank you both so much._

_Thank you to **Diloph** and **Coincidencless** for being my betas, for pointing out plot holes and mistakes before I could embarrass myself in public._

* * *

**Interlude IV**

**Cataclysm**

* * *

"Your future self is dead, Murozond."

The great Aspect sighed as Chronorma entered the shrine. "Again?"

"Yes," said Chronorma. The Infinite frowned and fingered a coiled, black plait on the side of her head. "I'm sorry. I don't think there's a way around this. Your past self is too clever."

Murozond growled softly, and tilted his massive head. "Whatever move I make, he counters. This is a battle of wills, and I refuse to lose. I may have a way…"

Above, the sky of the ruined Dragonblight churned. Chroma trotted further into the Bronze Dragonshrine with a shiver. _You _always_ say you have a way. It never comes to anything._

"Why so nervous? Deathwing is dead," said a new voice. Chroma turned around to see a drake, Neverus, squatting behind her. "His body can hardly harm you."

Chroma's gnomish shoulders shuddered. "It always feels as if it's staring at me." She glanced behind her. The walls of the shrine blocked the view, but few dragons could readily look at Deathwing's impaled corpse. Her eyes found Murozond's again. "You don't look as unhappy as you usually do, considering the news."

"I have been tending to the hourglass." Murozond regarded the artefact. "Neverus. Leave us. I will call upon you later."

The drake sunk to his forelegs in a bow, and departed.

"You think you've found another way, you said." Chroma didn't speak until Neverus had left, and trotted towards the Titanic hourglass in the centre of the shrine. Instead of Murozond's looming reflection she saw blurred scenes in the fragile surface. "Muro, I don't think we can prevent this. We've tried again and again. We should escape from End Time before they come, they'll be here in an hour…"

"Chroma, I may have found the answer. _The_ answer."

Chroma rubbed her temple. How many times had her consort said those words?

"Look into the hourglass," said Murozond. "I found the answer. _The_ answer. Not just what will save you and I, but what will save us _all_."

Chroma blinked as she approached the hourglass. "Really?" She peered at the glass. "Lirastrasza? Yeah, she's… oh, my, I forgot her part in Obsidia's death. I forgot how much she loathed the Black Flight."

"No, not that."

The image changed. Chroma stepped closer. "Is that Samia Inkling? She's wearing that hood and mask so it's hard to tell. Who is that with her?"

The smile in Murozond's voice surprised her. "Do you recognise the child?"

Chroma narrowed her eyes to slits, leaning closer. "That's… wait. I think I know her. She's so familiar, I think…"

"You have not seen this child since you were barely an adult, Chroma. Tens of thousands of years ago. This is Onyxia's child."

"Sabelia," Chroma murmured. "That's my Bronzeblood child…"

"Bronzeblood and Blackblood," said Murozond.

"And _she's_ going to save us?"

"No," said Murozond. "The child has no talents or skills whatsoever. I'm referring to the universe in which she was born."

Chroma's head began to ache. "Universe? That's an alternate timeline."

"No, Chroma, it's a universe." Murozond smiled again. "And you're its mother. Perhaps you remember what is titled the Creator's Paradox?"

Chroma continued to stare into the hourglass in front of her. Images shifted and swirled. "It's been so long since I was Bronze, Murozond. I've long forgotten the labels."

"The Creator's Paradox is the opposite of the Grandmother Paradox," said Murozond. "Where the Grandmother Paradox involves a person travelling back in time and killing their grandmother as a child, the Creator's Paradox, instead of destroying, creates. The classic example is a person stumbling across a book written by someone with their name, on the subject of time travel. This person then utilises the techniques inside the book to go back in time... where they write the very book that inspired them. The paradox comes out of nowhere, acts independent. If the paradox never existed to begin with, nothing would be lost, the universe would go on as it always had, and yet… with the paradox's birth, so much can be gained. You witnessed not the birth of an alternate timeline, Chroma, but the birth of an entire new _universe_."

Chroma's mouth hung open as she gazed into the hourglass. In the images inside, she saw her past self. Little Hora watched Bolvar Fordragon in the infirmary of Stormwind Keep, so long ago, framed against a wall of white.

"I wish you wouldn't give her such a hard time," said a familiar voice. Chroma craned her neck, but Samantha Inkweaver did not appear in the image. "She was so kind to me…"

"There," said Murozond.

Hora's eyes widened in the vision, gazing at something invisible as Fordragon hesitated by the door. Only a few seconds later, Fordragon said, "Perhaps you're right. It could serve to be more conscious."

"The reason why the timeline strengthened, rather than dwindled and died on its own, is _because_ it was a new universe," said Murozond. "You set up wards immediately, creating its nursery so that even when the Bronze Dragonflight caught on to your renegade behaviour, they could not infiltrate it. Even they did not know it was an entire new universe; so many times has the Bronze Dragonflight stumbled into alternate universes and thought they were timelines. The Bronzes were so young, so inexperienced."

"How is it that such a tiny decision can spawn a universe?" she said. "He only decided to be kinder to Onyxia..."

"Because the loop has to begin _somewhere_," said Murozond. "It is so rare that a Bronze witnesses a time loop _start_. How can something with no beginning have a start? And yet, that is exactly what you saw. It happened so quickly, so subtly. You were too distracted by the visions, and too inexperienced, to notice the temporal reverberations as it _changed its own past_, and the change of that past led to Onyxia saving Samantha Inkweaver and her daughter, which led to Fordragon deciding to be kinder to her… which is the very event where the split happened."

"I… what? Didn't the split happen first? It would need to, wouldn't it, in order for Onyxia to save Samantha, in order for her to be present in the infirmary so that the timeline could split? Samantha had to be _there_ to make him decide to be kinder to Onyxia!"

Murozond smiled. "It is a paradox, Chroma. Did you expect it to make _sense_?"

"Dividing by zero is easier than making sense of one of these," Chroma muttered.

"The Bronze Flight was too young at the time to tell the difference between a timestream split and a universe split," said Murozond. "Creator's Paradoxes are rare, and inexplicable. How is it that an anomaly can create something that requires itself to be created? It's like the beginning of life, the beginning of the Titans... there was nothing, and then there was _everything_."

"Everything. It didn't alter its past out of accident, did it? It's a time loop." Chroma looked up. "They'll encounter Bronzes later, and the Bronzes will do something that will alter the past as a result of this split, which is what changed the past… and they didn't even notice."

"They did notice, although not the extent. You were there, remember?" Murozond looked back to the hourglass. The glass took on a red hue. "Congratulations, my love. You spawned a universe in which Azeroth might stand a chance of not being destroyed."

In the glass, Chroma saw comets, infernals, and the gargantuan tentacles of Old Gods. A lump rose in her throat. "That's the Devastation. The moment where it all ended, where the Burning Legion won. That only happened a few years after the Cataclysm…"

"The Aspects' defeat at the claws of the Old Gods weakened the mother universe greatly," said Murozond. "Without them Azeroth didn't stand a chance against the Burning Legion, no matter how hard their mortals fought. Azeroth turned against its own denizens..."

Chroma watched as on barren battlefields, mortals of Horde and Alliance alike fought alongside one another. Tentacles split the earth and crushed them. Demons poured from portals, neverending…

"When they killed Deathwing, the Heart of Earth was lost without the Black Prince to take it," said Murozond. "With the Heart of Earth lacking a guardian, and Azeroth lacking a _true_ Aspect of Earth as a result, the Old Gods had _nothing_ to hold them back. The Aspects didn't realise what happened, not at first… the Black Aspect was the first to catch on, and by then it was too late. He was Aspect of Earth only in title, not in deed, and he could do _nothing_ as all hell broke loose, the Old Gods devoured the planet from the inside out, and the Devastation came."

Chroma couldn't tear her eyes from the hourglass. She saw Alexstrasza in front of her, the Dragonqueen's eyes glowing red as her skin turned purple from corruption. She saw Ysera in the green hue of the Emerald Dream, defeated by the mortals who'd had to turn on her at last. She saw Kalecgos, struck from the sky by an infernal's meteor. She saw Murozond, dead on the sands beside the hourglass in the End of Time. She saw...

"It's such a shame the Black Aspect never got the powers to which he was entitled," Chroma murmured. "If he had, everything could have been different." She sighed, watching as the Aspect crumpled at Alexstrasza's claws. The Dragonqueen's face flashed with a malicious grin. "He didn't succumb. He was the only Aspect that wasn't corrupt, the only one that had been purified, the last of the Black Dragonflight, and... that all came to nothing."

"He became a puppet of the corrupted Dragonqueen in the end." Murozond sat on his haunches. "He was blinded by his hatred, his resentment, his bitterness, and never saved those he was supposed to have saved. By the time he realised what was happening, it was too late. There was nothing he could do."

"And the others wondered why we became Infinite." Chroma's smile was humourless. "We didn't just want to prevent your death. We wanted to prevent the death of them _all_. Nozdormu wanted us to let it all play out, have us simply sit and watch Azeroth's doom unfold. They thought we fell to the Old Gods, but we didn't! We're the only ones who resisted, the only ones who fought back!" Chroma laughed bitterly. "They think the sun shines out of the mortals' backsides, you know? We turn on a few little mortals to try to kill them before they can kill _you_, lure them out into the time streams so we can eliminate them... and we're labelled the evil ones. Did they _never_ consider we saw things they hadn't?"

"The mercs can't do anything."

"No. They need the Aspects." Chroma looked back to the ruined battlefield in the glass. "The Horde and Alliance bicker like children and without the Aspects, Azeroth paid the price."

"We should not have fought them."

Chroma's head snapped to Murozond. "You ordered it — !"

"And I was wrong to do so," said Murozond. "Much of what I ordered was petty vengeance. I sought to punish the mercenaries who failed to prevent Azeroth's destruction, not just eliminate them, and we lost many of our number thanks to my foolishness. We must do better."

"But how?" Chroma looked back to the glass.

"Look," said Murozond. "Look what Onyxia did."

Another woman appeared in the hourglass, identical to Katrana Prestor, but her tanned skin glowed orange in the light of fire. She wore a bandage over one eye, and lay unconscious over the body of a dead man. Another approached them, and plunged a sword into her back...

"In the mother universe, Bolvar had never loved Katrana Prestor," said Murozond. "When she was revealed for who she was, he did not desperately cling to hope that the real Katrana Prestor was out there, somewhere. Katrina Hackett was never found. Never saved. She and her family perished, nameless, hunted at last. Like Sabellian, she'd fled all her life, hid all her life, but it wasn't the Black Flight that killed her."

"That wasn't Onyxia's fault!" said Chroma. "She didn't know the Prestors were real, it was Deathwing who killed Daval and Kitty!"

"But what about this?"

The orange shimmer of the hourglass turned to blue. Chroma saw stalactites suspended over an enormous cavern. On the upmost deck of a juggernaut she saw a cluster of mercenaries. Bodies lay dead in front of them. As she watched, one of the mercs knelt by a man's corpse and sawed off the head with his dagger.

A small face watched from the shadows, eyes blown wide with horror.

As the mercs walked away, trailing blood, a dark-haired girl stepped from the shadows. She looked only on the cusp of her teenaged years, still short, her black hair trailing down her back in twin plaits. "Daddy?" she choked, her eyes fixed on the headless body on the ground. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "D... Dad..."

"Want to see why her father's dead?" said Murozond. "Want to see why she witnessed something no child, no _adult,_ should ever have to see?"

Once again, Chroma saw the brilliant white stones of Stormwind. The no-longer-headless man stood alive and well in front of her. He swept over in a bow. "Lady Prestor."

Off-screen, Chroma heard a familiar voice. "Mister Van Cleef. Meetings with the King show promise! I bear the _thrilling_ news that it appears more and more likely that he shall pay you and the Stonemasons for the hard work you poured into this beautiful city."

"She lied," said Murozond. "There were never any such meetings. Varian Wrynn thought from the beginning that the Stonemasons understood they wouldn't be paid. Guess who told him that? Guess who told him before the riots began that they had suddenly changed their minds?"

In front of them, the streets of Stormwind swarmed with people and rang with the clang of swords and crumbling of walls. Varian Wrynn watched with dismay as smoke coiled in the air. On the balcony beside him stood a blonde woman, and beside _her_...

Katrana Prestor watched unsmilingly as the people below screamed at the king.

"There is no need for this!" called out the blonde, knuckles white as she gripped the railings. "_Please_, there is a better solution, people are _dying_!"

"People are no more than animals, my Queen," said Katrana Prestor. "They will not listen. They have no interest in listening."

Tiffin covered her mouth with a hand. Katrana Prestor's eyes slid to the side, watched as a man picked up a rock...

Prestor casually stepped aside, just in time for the rock to sail straight past her at Tiffin's head.

"Do you see the similarities?" said Murozond. The white faded back into blue before the stone could connect, and in front of her Chroma saw the juggernaut again, saw the girl again. This time she was a foot taller, her figure fuller. Clouds of poisonous fumes curled in front of her as the mercs who challenged her succumbed to gas.

"Just like Onyxia, she hesitated."

The girl drew her blades and stared at the mercenaries. They lay prone in front of her.

"She hadn't killed anyone before, not personally," said Murozond. "The deaths of others she'd had eliminated still weighed on her consciousness. She was in deeper than she'd imagined, just like Onyxia. What she'd thought was a simple mission for vengeance had turned into one where real _people_ died, not faceless actors upon a stage, and certainly not the ones who had killed her father. Her friends had died for her crusade."

For a long moment the girl stared at their crumpled forms, before she sheathed her weapons. Finally, she spoke. "Poor Glubtok. When his powers manifested, his ogre mound was the first to burn..."

Chroma said, "I don't think Vanessa and Onyx can be compared..."

"Really?" said Murozond. Once again, Chroma saw the little girl beside her dying father... and then she saw Katrana Prestor in a red cavern, the ground littered with the bodies of her children. The images flashed rapidly in front of her eyes. Chroma watched as Vanessa spoke to the mercenaries in their drugged sleep, and saw Katrana hesitate as Bolvar sat beside her bed cradling their infant child. Vanessa screamed in the midst of battle, an explosion rocking her body and sending her to the deck, as Onyxia's rage died out at last in her cavern and the great wyrm fell to the ground to tired.

"Onyxia's children died because she failed," said Murozond. "That little girl you see in there had a chance to save her future, to put things right for the Defias who had been so wronged... but like Onyxia, she chose instead to lash out. If she'd known she was repeating Katrana Prestor's mistakes, I wonder, would she have still done so?"

The image changed. A teenaged Vanessa stood in a doorway in Stormwind as Edwin hauled a pack onto his back. "I'll be back home at the usual time, Ness," he said, as he walked away.

"If Onyxia had played her cards better, the Stonemasons would never have become the Defias," said Murozond. "And they would have had a happy ending."

On the burnt deck of the juggernaut, the mercs fell upon Vanessa's body. They pulled off her gloves, her boots, rifled through her pockets. After they walked away, the charred teenager struggled to sit. Her face, burnt and ruined, screwed up in pain, her hair singed almost to nothing, her body mutilated with wounds. Muscles stood out in their strain as she gasped for air.

"She must have known she was repeating Onyxia's mistake," said Murozond. "Certainly it must have occurred to her that Onyxia was responsible? That Onyxia lashed out, just as she did? And yet, she did not learn."

Vanessa slumped to the deck and stopped moving.

"We don't learn from other people's mistakes, even if we know of them," said Murozond. "Because we can't understand them. If Vanessa Van Cleef knew that Onyxia sought vengeance, just as she did, for the deaths of her children in the Steppes, would she have walked down the same path?"

"But she didn't seek vengeance," said Chroma. "She only wanted to protect them, to stop more dying. She became Katrana Prestor to stop the massacre that happened anyway."

"That's what she told herself when she began to feel the guilt," said Murozond. "And it was true. _Mostly_ true. A true mother wants to protect her children, and Onyxia did just that, but just as I lashed out at the mercenaries who will destroy me one day, Onyxia did more than disarm Stormwind. She protected her innocents by slaughtering Stormwind's. Just as Stormwind saw her as a faceless enemy instead of a person, she saw them as the same. In the end, instead of bringing about the end to a war and seeking reparation, she pursued _vengeance_."

Chroma watched as the hourglass returned to Stormwind. The rock hit Tiffin's temple and the Queen crumpled to the ground.

"She didn't have to do that." Chroma tore her eyes away to stare at her feet. "I was too set on the fate of Azeroth to focus on what she'd _already_ done. She was too upset about her children and brood to — what could she have _done_, Murozond? Her children were dead, no amount of reparations or peace could bring that back! She _deserved_ vengeance!"

"And at what cost?" said Murozond. "In her universe, Azeroth is still in danger. The Old Gods are still present, and instead of fighting them she fought the humans. Just as the Horde and Alliance fought one another without the Aspects to guide them, until it was too late."

"She saw the light, in the end. Saw the innocent among the guilty, and realised she couldn't hurt the guilty without hurting the innocent, too..."

"Do you remember this, Chroma?" said Murozond.

The glass shimmered with an icy colour. Details formed in front of her; skull motifs decorated the wall. Katrana Prestor stood in front of her, face as pale as ice, eyes made of purple crystals, one hand made only out of bone. She stood in front of a table marred with black soot, staring at the smudges on the fingertips of her good hand. Behind her, silent as the grave, an undead with glowing yellow eyes lurked beside an iron maiden. He watched, intent. "But how?" said Onyxia. "How did he grow so powerful? How, in so short a time?"

"I remember," said Chroma. "I saw it, as a vision, when the timelines — when the universe was born."

Eduard Von Andorhal stepped out from behind the iron maiden. "What do you think you're doing down here?"

Onyxia jumped and whirled to face him. For a moment her face flickered with… _fear?_… before it twisted into a stare of sheer loathing.

"It took you long enough." Eduard crossed his arms, nose crinkled in disgust. "And here I was under the mistaken impression you were _intelligent_."

"Oh, _that_ went well." Chroma shook her head as the image changed again. Deathwing pounced on the arches of Stormwind, which crumbled under his weight, as water and wind elementals raged in the whipping rain. "And there's the elemental invasion… why show me this, Murozond? It's an alternate universe, perhaps, but I never finished this. I just... couldn't keep going, after a while. I'd watched Onyxia die so many times, and every time I tried to save Amandine the universe fractured. What's the point?"

"Because you made a difference," said Murozond. Once again, Chroma saw Vanessa's burnt face. "Because Onyxia is not Vanessa, but she will face the same choices. Vanessa wanted vengeance, and Onyxia lost her children and her own life. Do you think she's not going to want vengeance, too? But she can't afford it. Azeroth can't afford for her to get justice; she must ignore the symptoms of the disease and eliminate the source. You trained her, Chroma, when you were a young dragon. Now she knows the humans aren't animals, that the Old Gods are responsible for her Flight's corruption. She knows what she has to do. She knows she has to save them."

"But will she?" said Chroma. "When there's the deaths of her children to answer for?"

"No one else can save them, no one else _will_," said Murozond. "Even the Black Prince won't without her. He is too angry, too hateful, he needs her. She's the only one who has the skill, the knowledge and the tools. She's the only one who can pave the way for the Black Prince. The only one who can yank him back to earth."

"Nyxondra's son," Chroma murmured. "The Black Prince. The Messiah."

"Yes."

"He's powerless within his Flight. What good can _he_ do?"

"She is the one who has to save them… he is just formality." Murozond stared at her. "Even if she should succeed, he will still need her."

Chroma peered at the glass, but not at the visions within, and raised her hand. "Murozond, something's wrong."

"Don't touch," said Murozond.

"It's fragile." Chroma's fingertips paused, an inch from the glass. "It's not supposed to be that way. There's something wrong with the universe, isn't there? It's crumbling. It's dying. What's wrong with it?"

"That is why I called you here," said Murozond. "Just as it will always be inexplicable how these paradoxes come to occur, it is just as curious as to how they manage to destroy themselves. I need you to do a small job for me. You raised this universe, nurtured it, watched it flourish, but it's not over yet."

Chroma straightened. "I'm not getting involved again — "

"No," said Murozond. "Not nearly to the length you did before. I only have one small task for you, and then it's all up to them."

"Them? The Obsidian Dawn?"

"Yes." Murozond tilted his head. "You have to infiltrate Wyrmrest. It involves the Black Prince."

"What do I have to do?"

"In this universe, your actions rippled out," Murozond turned his gaze on the hourglass. "That's Rheastrasza, the dragon who helped purify the Black Prince's egg. In this universe, she died in vain. Deathwing never thought the Messiah's egg was destroyed. He knew it was out there, hiding, and he threatened to tear apart Azeroth to find it. Even when the Prince hatched, he wasn't safe... Do you remember?"

"I remember." Chroma's voice was soft. In front of her, she saw the Prince. "Wait." She peered at the vision, reaching out with her consciousness, listening for information. "Is that — is that _when_ I think it is? He's not supposed to hatch that early!"

"In that universe, it's exactly what he did," said Murozond. "Watch."

In a cellar, a boy curled up against the wall. His skin was dark, his hair and eyes as black as pitch. He clung to his knees, terror written all over his face. A pair of human men, dressed in the robes of the Twilight Hammer, approached him. The boy jerked back into the wall, threw out his hands, spewed fire from them —

Later, those same men, faces burned, struggled as something flapped and struggled in their arms. They bound a rope around the jaws of a whelp and pinned its wings to its side. "No..." Chroma stared. "That's not a whelp. That's a whelp_ling_. He must be only a few _weeks_ old at most there!"

The whelpling continued to struggle. In front of them, looming over the three, Deathwing's metal jaw clanged together in a laugh.

The hourglass turned a vivid red as Deathwing bathed the world, and the whelpling, in fire.

The glass turned thinner.

"In the mother universe, this did not come to pass," said Murozond. "It must not be allowed to in this one. This is why it threatens to crumble. The Aspect must not die. The Red Dragonflight, in order to protect the Aspect, switched his egg with a decoy's. A mercenary carried the decoy's egg around Azeroth, attempting to outrun Deathwing, a distraction for his forces as the real egg went hidden... or so they had planned. The person who carried the real egg betrayed the Red Flight. He betrayed the Black Prince, which led to his death. Onyxia can only do so much, Chroma. She can fight to save her Flight, but she can't protect it when the fabric of the universe frays and unravels. All we need to do is preserve it, and the Obsidian Dawn must do the rest."

"Then we alert Wyrmrest," said Chroma.

"No," said Murozond. "They will _never_ listen to an Infinite. You have to switch the eggs. The mercenary who was supposed to be the distraction, the mercenary who allowed his name to be fed to the Twilight Dragonflight, has to carry the real egg. The betrayer must take the decoy to Deathwing. You will go in there, switch the eggs, and nothing more. Leave their fates to the sands of time."

"And we'll sacrifice the decoy to Deathwing."

"This decoy has power the Black Prince doesn't have, just as the Black Prince has power the decoy won't," said Murozond. "I feel that the decoy will survive. Should the Obsidian Dawn find him, they will protect him as fiercely as they would protect the Black Prince."

"If they find either of them."

"Their lives depend on the Black Prince."

"The Dawn won't be happy about that, you know how independent they are."

"They'll be even less happy about who _else_ they have to depend on." Murozond stood. "Your task will be simple. Be certain to disguise your scent, freeze time, switch the eggs, unfreeze it and then... go about wherever the Sands of Time take you."

Chroma shook her head. "Murozond. No."

"Chronorma, everything rests upon this — "

"Don't misunderstand," said Chroma. "I do not disagree it must be done, but… send someone else. Send Neverus. Not me. I don't trust myself not to tinker again. A long time ago I told myself they had to do the work themselves, and… it has to stay that way. It has to be them, and no one else. I wouldn't be able to resist."

Murozond tilted his head for a long moment. "As you wish," he said. "Then I shall find Neverus. All the same, Chroma… before the mercenaries arrive here to fight me, you must accompany me somewhere. Will you come?"

"Alright," said Chroma. "You understand if they succeed you will never come to exist?"

"And that is exactly the point." Murozond shifted to the form of a pale-skinned high elf. "It saddens me that my past self will never come to know the pleasure of being bonded to you. Come. We will find Neverus, and then proceed."

Chroma gazed at the hourglass for a moment more. She watched as Samia Inkling concealed Sabelia Fordragon in her cloak, watched as, once again, Deathwing fell upon the arches of Stormwind and tore at what hung bound there in chains. She watched as he rose to the sky, claws full, and vanished into the smoky distance.

The arches remained crumbled and destroyed on the ground, their chains empty.

Chroma couldn't help but smirk. "Bet Fordragon was thrilled about _that_."

* * *

_**A/N:** This chapter is the last interlude. Just a couple of notes before I continue:_

_- Part two will begin Jan 15th, then it's back to weekly updates. Yaaaaay. I started on the first draft of the first chapter yesterday and I want to get as far ahead as possible in case real life chucks a wrench into the works._

_- While part two will not be as long as part one, it won't be much shorter either. However, because a good chunk of part one had chapters 4-5K words long, there will be a shorter chapter count because I prefer to have 7K-10K chapter lengths these days (unless they're interludes, as you've noticed. Sorry, I didn't want them to drag on longer than necessary). So it may seem short because it won't take eight months to update to the end. Unless it does in which case hit me for letting it get so freaking long._

_Hope you all had a happy Winter's Veil, have a great new year, and see y'all on the other side!_


	46. Pursuit

**_A/N:_**_Thank you to **Diloph** and **Coincidencless **for being my betas. And hey, it's ALMOST the fifteenth where I am, so..._

* * *

**PART TWO**

**Chapter One**

* * *

_"You could have been all I wanted,_

_But you weren't honest_

_Now get in the ground!"_

_- Welcome Home, Coheed & Cambria_

* * *

She heard music. She felt heat. She heard voices. One murmured to her; yearned for, familiar. The other spoke of consequences, anger, blame. _Let her be angry at me. Don't let her know who did it, not yet…_

She saw a little face, a face she'd seen in a mirror decades ago.

Memories.

"_That's Kat. She's a brat. Kat the brat. Nobody likes her."_

Rippling grass in the springtime. Green eyes, a familiar face grinning in mirth. A tinkling tune, a music box that sat on the table beside her bed. A little boy with blonde hair, a laughing night elven child. A baby. A sky spun with stars. _Which one is Outland? Where are my brother's bones?_

"_You said that Alexstrasza turned on all the Aspects." Black hair, on her shoulders. White walls. An elf in front of her. No… not an elf. "Malygos, my father, the others... Something was wrong with her, and you didn't realise until it was too late."_

_Influence. Slavery. All these years, and we never knew, never figured it out… _

_"But how can the Old Gods be influencing us? The Titans were said to have locked them all away! It's why they created the Aspects to begin with, because they needed a... a jailer..."_

_The Heart of Earth still holds them back, you said… the artefact they gave to the Aspect of Earth…_

_"It's a powerful Titanic artefact that is, quite literally, the key." A familiar voice; not her own. A voice that sounded male, but belonged to a woman. "If it has no host, they will break free."_

_Then the world will end. But the world wants us all dead!_

"_You have to redeem yourselves before the world will stop hunting you and your kin."_

_We did nothing! They corrupted us from the start, they killed my children, they wore their skins as armour, they — how can I do this alone? You said I'm the only one who can do it, the only one who can shake off their influence!_

_"You won't be alone. I promise you. You will have allies other than me."_

"_Is my brother alive, Hora?"_

"_I can't tell you that."_

"She's waking up."

"_Really?_ I thought it was normal for corpses to talk!"

"Oh, shut up, you're the one who said you were a terrible necromancer."

"That is what puzzles me. I only ever dabbled in it. Onyx? I — " A crackle of electricity. "_Damn it, stop shocking me!_"

"Huh, she's still staticy."

"_You don't say! _Onyx, I swear to the Titans, if you shock me _one more time_ I'm leaving you here. You can damn well _walk_ to Northrend."

"That looked weak, I think she's just run out of charge. And _walk_? You realise there's a whole _ocean_ — stop rolling your eyes, I'm pulling your leg. What were you saying about her wings? They won't work?"

"She's drawing on some sort of source, I don't believe she can rebuild with it, only feed on it. You see, when I studied an undead dragon fifty years ago, the dragon was in mortal form, and in the centre of its back was a cluster of energy that Onyx currently lacks. That energy would, if she were in dragon form, flow through the wings, but at present she doesn't _have_ such an energy and — "

"Sabel."

"… _Hmph_."

She stirred. She opened her eyes; the world was purple.

The deep voice beside her ear spoke again. "If Romathis listened, he would be here with us rather than dead again. Because _last_ time he faced a guild of mortals it ended well, right? Oh, wait…"

A female's voice. "Don't feel guilty for that."

"I don't. Why should I feel guilty someone _else_ wanted to be stupid and let himself die?"

"Liar. Besides, if Romathis had anything to do with it, Onyxia would be dead all over again. You couldn't let that happen."

A sigh. "I am uncertain as how she will take her current… condition. I never learned her opinion on the undead as when I dabbled in necromancy she led her own life, and — "

"Do you _ever_ shut up?" Onyxia murmured.

Stifled laughter from the female. Small giggles from some place to her left. A sigh in her ear. "Some people never change," said Sabel. "Onyx. How many fingers am I — ?"

"What?" She batted at something in front of her. "Get your hand _out of my face_."

"Good enough. How's your mind?"

Onyxia growled. Everything was still purple and misty, and she couldn't smell a damn thing.

Smoke curled in the sky. They clustered in a hollow in the earth, surrounded by tall rocks, a mountain at their back. Scraggly plants struggled their way out of the ash-covered ground. Onyxia tried to sit, but her body didn't quite obey her, making only a meek attempt. "Slow down," said Sabel. "The necromantic energy's not quite strong enough yet. It's growing on its own. What are you _ — _?"

"I am not doing _anything_." Onyxia strained again to sit upright, until Sabellian helped her. As she reached out for coherent thought it eluded her, as if she were drugged. Two other faces watched her. One was a little girl's. She looked familiar…

"That's Saya," said Sabellian. "You wouldn't come to on your own, we believed that her presence may help bring you back to sentience. It seemed to, you started talking to yourself after you saw her. An odd side effect, but better than nothing. Fortunately, ah, _acquiring_ her was easy enough, she recognised Sam and came trotting after her. I suppose being Bronzeblood has _some_ benefits."

"Um," said the adult female. "Say hello, Saya?"

"… _Why?_" said a smaller voice. "I am right here. She knows I am right here. Must you patronise me so?"

A snort from beside Onyxia's ear. "She's your daughter, alright."

"Can I have my notebook back?" said the smaller voice. "How old am I today?"

"Five," said the adult female. "And I told you, you don't have a notebook."

"That's because _you_ took it!"

Onyxia floundered through the fog. "Why is everything purple?"

"Romathis gave you a new pair of eyes." Something tapped her skull. Onyxia whacked her brother in retaliation. "And I'm afraid he may have needed you to get a new brain. Do you feel anything, Onyxia?"

"Feel _what_?"

"A source of energy," said Sabellian. "It will help you remember. Help you think. You're drawing on it, but you are not aware of it… find it — no, don't stand, it's not physical. It's magical. Search for it."

The female voice. "You don't _have_ a noteb — "

A shriek. "Give it _back!_"

"I don't _have_ it!"

"Samia, take her for a walk," said Sabellian. "Tire her out before she tries to kill you again, and for the love of the Titans, stay _away_ from any mercs. Onyx…"

"Are you sure that's safe?"

"You can defend her just _fine_, now _please_ allow me to attend to my sister in peace!"

The moment Onyx cast out her senses, she found the source. In her mind's eye it took the appearance of a pale green light, full of the energy she needed, full of coherence and…

_Corruption._

_Dying. Sick. Won't be long now. Hang on a little longer. Just a little longer…_

"Magic isn't sentient," Onyxia murmured. Her eyes had fluttered closed again. "What…?"

She hissed. Sabellian's arm around her tightened, and then — _invasion_. Her body struggled, thrashed, clung to the source and drew it into herself until a door slammed on it, and it was gone, and she…

She opened her eyes again.

The world was still tinted with purple, but now everything felt clear, lucid, airy. A face frowned at her. She stared at it. "Sabel?" she said. "You're… dead."

"I am?" said Sabel. "I was not aware of this."

"What is happening?" said Onyxia. "Is the Dark Portal open? Where are my children? They're…"

The cavern. Dozens, hundreds of little bodies.

"… dead. Romathis is dead, they're _all_ dead, where — " She tilted back her head, looked at the clouds of ash coiling above them. "There isn't a purple sky _anywhere_ in Azeroth, where are we? How did I get here?"

What the _hell_ happened?

"I told you, the purple is your eyes, everything looks red to me," said Sabel. "We're in the Steppes. You know, Onyxia, I shall break the news to you as gently and as tactfully as possible: congratulations, you're a zombie. That would explain why one of your hands is a skeleton, in case you didn't notice."

Onyxia held up her left hand. The skin and muscles were gone, leaving bones connected by… what? She bent her fingers experimentally. "I can move it without ligaments… necromantic energy?" She sat up; this time, her body obeyed without hesitation, sensitive to her whims. The power she'd snatched moments before, during her fit, felt as if it pumped through her body like blood. She felt it thrumming, moving underneath her skin. "What have I _missed_?"

"Romathis did this," said Sabellian. "For a few years your heads hung from the arches of Stormwind, until our most _beloved_ Father returned and paid a personal visit to Stormwind in order to retrieve them."

She died.

The Brotherhood of Cinders won. Stormwind won.

"I… see." She curled her skeletal hand closed. The bones clicked together. "Deathwing? Ah."

"Romathis is dead again," Sabellian murmured. "Samia and I entered Blackrock for Romathis's assistance, but he would have none of it. I found you quite by accident, forced you into mortal form and took you away… by now, the Frostmoon Federation will have defeated him. And yes, Father dearest is alive. Unfortunately for those of us who don't want to make war with mortals."

"Romathis was undead?"

"Yes."

"Why are _you_ alive? The Dark Portal is open?"

"Indeed." Finally, Sabellian showed the shadow of a smile, one that vanished in a flash. "It opened not long after your death. I survived because I am bad at dying." His voice quietened. "If only my brood had been the same."

Onyxia said nothing. Words were useless.

"And you lost yours." Sabellian's dark eyes found hers. "Samia told me everything."

"… Who?" Onyxia's good hand was smeared with violet ash. She tilted it in the light. So much _purple_.

"Samia Inkling," said Sabellian. "Samantha Inkweaver."

_Inkweaver. Traitor, incompetent…_

Her children. All dead, _thanks to her_.

She lowered her hand. "Did she tell you what she did, I wonder?"

"Yes," was all Sabellian said.

"_Truly_?" said Onyxia. "What she did — "

"Led to the deaths of most of the Flight, I know." Sabellian didn't sound bothered. "Not now, the Steppes aren't safe. The Frostmoon Federation may know you're back and seek you out."

"And then you sent Samia away and depend on her to protect my child." _Idiot_.

"She's much more competent than she was years ago. I trained her myself, Onyx, and if there's one thing I do damn well it's training dragonsworn."

She tried to summon anger, but it wouldn't come. It felt like only minutes ago she'd found her children dead, all of them, scattered like dead leaves on the cavern floor, the image still vivid in her mind…

"How long have I been…?"

"Just over five years," said Sabellian, speaking as if people came back from the dead all the time. "Much has happened since then. The Outland campaign, the Northrend campaign… two years each. Then the Cataclysm happened not long ago. I'll ask an elemental to find Samia and Saya."

Onyx watched as an earth elemental rose from the ground, crackling and crumbling. A murmur from Sabel, and then it went on its way up the slope.

"They have taken more persuading than normal." Sabel turned to watch it disappear. "And yet, they seem relieved and calm when I call upon them. Ever since just before the Cataclysm that sundered the earth and heralded our father's return, they have been… stressed. Worried. _Annoyed_. Most shaman can barely handle them anymore… but most shaman don't have thousands of years of experience."

_Most of them are modest, too._ "The Cataclysm?"

"Our father hid out in the plane of earth, Deepholm," said Sabel. "He erupted through the Maelstrom, caused a massive earthquake known as the Cataclysm. You don't seem surprised."

The Bronze had been right. The little traitorous —

But she'd been right. "I was warned of it some time ago. I did not care then, I don't care now."

"You should care. It spells bad news for every one of us."

Sabel went quiet. Saya crunched down a twisting path between some boulders, her arms crossed, her face in a scowl. Sam walked behind her as the elemental followed.

Saya's eyes settled on Onyx. Her father's eyes. They didn't look green, they looked as purple as everything else did. "So, are you _done_ with your fit?"

"I appear to be." Onyx examined the child. Bronzeblood. Blackblood. Two curses on her head. Her child, the only one that was left… "You spoke about a notebook. What is it?"

"I've always had it," said Saya. "Sometimes I don't, sometimes someone gives me a new one. So I need a new one, if I don't have one."

"We do not have any."

Sabel waved a hand at the elemental. "Thank you."

The elemental hesitated. Underneath the boulder that was its torso, rocks and pebbles sped up in their orbit.

"Deathwing will be dealt with, eventually," said Sabel. "There is no need to fear. If I have need of the elements I will call upon them once again for help."

The elemental did nothing for a long moment, before the rocks crumbled to the ground as the spirit returned to earth.

"They weren't as clingy in Outland," said Samia.

"Outland doesn't have Old Gods," said Sabel. At Onyxia's surprised look, he said, "Nalice informed Serinar about what you said about Old Gods. You will be displeased to know your theory was proven correct; Serinar saw Deathwing working with their servants. It's not often Nalice eats her words, I only wish I'd been there."

A distant memory tugged at Onyxia, before she saw in front of her the image of a blonde high elf. "Horan Bronzewing told me."

"Ah, yes, Serinar also talked about some alternate timeline," said Sabel. "Curious. However, we are not allied with Deathwing at this time, Onyxia. 'Tis too dangerous. He has gathered an army in the cult of the Twilight's Hammer, and seeks to eradicate all life on Azeroth, et cetera, et cetera, the usual spiel every time Azeroth's in trouble. I am unsure why he might think such _drastic measures_ would be productive or even conductive to his own health, and of course: Old Gods. Whyever _not_?"

"The Brotherhood of Cinders won," said Onyxia. "At least tell me how many I took down before they did."

"Most of them." Sabel smirked. "However their core team survived and they have since rebuilt and... I believe that a week ago..."

Sam looked away as Sabel fell quiet.

"What did they do?" said Onyxia.

"Ever since Reginald Windsor revealed you at Stormwind, the Black Dragonflight has suffered nothing but disaster after disaster after disaster," said Sabel. "The majority of the Flight was annihilated; Romathis's forces and your forces, leaving only scattered dregs and a handful in Outland. There were few adult females left. Twelve, perhaps, after your death." Sabel avoided her eyes. "Over the years they were whittled down further until the time of the Cataclysm, at which point only four were left alive: Sintharia, Obsidia, Nyxondra and Nalice."

He raised his eyes. "Now, three of them are dead."

Three…? There was only _one_ left?

"Sintharia had been in hiding for centuries, but in the end it came to nothing," said Sabel. "The Brotherhood of Cinders took her down last week. A month before that, the Red Dragonflight found Obsidia in the Twilight Highlands and killed her. A month and a half before _that_, Nyxondra was found dead in the Badlands. They're targeting our women, Onyxia. They want to _wipe us out_."

Onyxia hissed. "The Reds never cared!"

"They do now. During the Northrend Campaign they took more interest in the affairs of mortals," said Sabel.

"What about the whelps?" Onyxia's bony hand curled into a fist.

"The mortals have no qualms with killing whelps," said Sabel. "The Reds may hesitate, but they will look the other way. If we are unlucky there may be no whelps to survive to adulthood..."

"Is Nalice safe?"

"Serinar came to me after Obsidia's death," said Sabel. "Before the Cataclysm took place, he and Nalice heard whispers of Father's return. Nalice disappeared from her diplomatic post in Wyrmrest Temple; a prudent move, considering the circumstances. She hides in the mountains to the west of the Obsidian Dragonshrine, inside a well-hidden cave network in Wintergrasp. No one outside of our Flight knows of it. In addition to that, she is pregnant. She will lay within the month."

"And then she will be at her most vulnerable," Onyxia murmured. "She must be protected."

Sabel nodded. "That is why Serinar came to me."

"_Serinar_ asked for help?"

"Given the growing power of mortals within the last five years and the assistance of the other Flights, he does not believe Deathwing will win." As Sabel spoke, the rocks at his feet stirred. They coalesced into a tiny earth elemental, which hovered at his ankles. "It would be suicide to assist him. That is why he called upon us. It was he who attempted to appeal to Romathis, who asked me to try also, it was he who told me what Romathis planned to do with _you_… and so we are here. We need your assistance. We have to hide from Deathwing _and_ the Reds."

Samia laced her fingers together. "We call ourselves the Obsidian Dawn to distinguish ourselves from the rest of the Black Dragonflight. Serinar thought it was ridiculous, of course…"

"A new dawn…" Onyxia rubbed her head. "How optimistic of you." She felt cold, and yet feverish. Almost as soon as she noticed the contradictory sensation, it faded, leaving emptiness.

Sabel's eyes caught the elemental at his feet, and he frowned. "We have to get to safety. We have to reach Nalice and Serinar in Northrend, if Nalice is still alive. Serinar risked much by leaving her alone to find me."

"Nalice would have it no other way. She resents protection. She resents being thought of as weak."

"Now is not the time for pride." Sabel held out his hand to Onyxia. "We must get all the help we can. I am afraid your wings won't work. You'll have to use my back."

Onyxia took his hand. It burned in hers. He pulled her to her feet. He was alive. _Alive_. And the Portal had opened only weeks after her own death…

She wanted to cling to him and never let go.

If only she'd held on a little longer! If Reginald Windsor was killed earlier she would have seen him again, she'd never have _died_.

"Do you know what Orion did?" Onyx lowered her voice.

"Yes." She glimpsed a flicker of sadness on her brother's face, before it was replaced by the mask again. "Mategrief can be crippling, and destructive."

Sam blinked. "Mategrief...?"

"He was only two thousand," Sabel murmured. "He was distraught enough to destroy everything, but not so badly that he lost a sound mind... sound enough to plan." Sabel shook his head. "Let's fly. Your daughter is not afraid of heights, we have noted, it seems she has flown before. At least, at some point in the future. Bronzeblood, _honestly_."

Onyxia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _It's good to have you back, brother. _"Sabel. I must know for certain, is Fordragon dead?"

Samia gave Sabel a look.

"He was killed, yes," said Sabel. He continued before Onyx could open her mouth. "I will take Samia and Saya to Dun Morogh. They cannot make the trans continental flight, especially the child."

"What?" said Onyx. "Where are we taking her?"

"To Northrend, dear sister," said Sabel.

"A _child_?"

Sabel paused to give her an odd look. "Children have been raised in Northrend for millennia, Onyx."

"Not when it was crawling with Scourge_ and_ the Red Dragonflight!"

"As a matter of fact, the Taunka did so with little trouble," said Sabel. "And most of the Scourge are dead. The Lich King is defeated. We may be pursued by Reds, but remember that Nalice is pregnant and we'll shortly be joined by _her_ children, not to mention Jettion, and they'll be in the same amount of danger as the rest of us. Would you really give Saya back to the _humans_?" Sabel gave Onyx a cold look. "She can't go back. You haven't seen what she's like yet."

Onyx gazed at her daughter. The child's face stared back at them without expression. "Give me back to the humans?" she said when their eyes settled on her. "I am not some _possession_."

"Bronzeblood," Sabel grunted. "It's unnerving hearing a child speak like an adult Black dragon. Saya, what do you want to do?"

"She is hardly capable of making a decision!" said Onyx.

Saya gave her a disgusted look. "I'm _perfectly_ capable, thank you very much!"

"Keeping her with whelps and other dragons is one thing," said Onyx. "Letting her travel through Northrend with only a _human_ to protect her is quite another, especially a human who has failed in her duty before!"

"Do you have a better idea?" said Sabel. "Ironforge is just as dangerous as Northrend, but Sam will be better able to move around it than we can."

Onyx glared at Sam. Sam stared ahead without flinching, meeting nobody's eyes.

"I don't trust you," said Onyx.

"With good reason, Broodmother," said Sam without hesitation.

Sabel sighed and rolled his eyes. "Do you not want to keep her close, Onyx? I have trained Samia for five years. I could ask her to cut off her own head and she'd do it. Of course, she'd be completely stupid to, but she would."

Onyx continued to stare at Sam. "No self pity? No _begging_, little _Samantha_? No whining? Nothing to say in your defence?"

"Do you wish me to?"

"My children died thanks to you."

"I know."

"And I won't have another meet the same fate."

"I know. What are your wishes?"

Sabel's hand clutched Onyx's shoulder. "She will survive," he said, as Onyx turned to look at him. "She acts like an adult in a child's body so often… how would it be that she did that unless her consciousness lived long enough to mature? Onyx, distrust Samia as much as you want, but at least trust _me_. I… believe the child's presence could mean the difference between us living and dying."

"How? What can she do?" said Onyx.

"Nothing," said Sabel. "It's a matter of what others would do to keep her alive. The mortals want us. If they know the adopted daughter of King Varian Wrynn was with us, and we were in a tight spot… if a mercenary happened to think she was in danger…"

"I get to play the hostage?" Saya perked. "_Joy_."

"Do not mistake me," said Sabel, "I would never allow harm to come to her — "

"I know," said Onyx. That she believed without a doubt. "I see the credit in your argument but…"

"There is a hypothesis I may need to test in future," said Sabel. "I cannot tell you what it is until I know for certain I am right, but Sabelia plays a part. Please, Onyx. Do not forget that a mother is no less a mother because her child is dead. There is a difference between allowing a dying man to live out of pity, and protecting a child. No harm will come to Saya."

"I trust you, Sabel." Onyx turned a death glare on Samia. "Let us not waste any more time, then."

Hypothesis? _What_ hypothesis?

-o-O-o-

"We'll take a portal to Dalaran from Ironforge." Sam pulled a hood over her head, and did the same with Saya's. The little Dragonblood snarled, but Sam ignored her. Sabel relaxed as her growls died down. "We'll stay hidden, nobody will find us. I promise."

"And you did such a spectacular job _last_ time you were sent on an important job," Onyx drawled.

Sam didn't even blink, pulling her cloak around her and taking Saya by the shoulder. "I will see you both on the other side."

"Indeed," said Sabel. "Go."

Sam bowed, and she and Saya trooped up the snowy slope.

"She is not the same as she once was." Onyx felt irritation flare. "When I was alive, I could make a simple comment like that and she would likely sob for _hours_."

"How many times do I need to tell you that I _trained_ her, damn it? Does that mean absolutely _nothing_ to you?"

"I'm surprised she hasn't lectured us on the wisdoms of bringing a child to the Steppes."

Sabel snorted. "She did, as a matter of fact. I told her children are _far_ hardier than the eggshells mortalkind treat them as. Children raised in war time are always tough."

"Mortals think children are useless creatures." Onyx clicked her tongue. "I am grateful you brought her with you, Sabel, even if Samia as her guardian gave me some pause."

"I thought you would be, given the circumstances."

"At least one of my children are alive," Onyx murmured.

"Two," said Sabel. "Jettion is with Nalice."

"He escaped?" Thank the Titans.

"Indeed. He lived in Blade's Edge with Samia and I for a while, he has grown little however."

"He was only a few years old when I… died," said Onyx. "He is a long way from drakedom yet. I only wish Saya had been with you three out there. Stormwind is no place for a Dragonblood. She may be human, but she is still one of _ours_. Do you know anything of her history in Stormwind?"

"Violence, violence, and more violence," said Sabel. "Varian adopted her after Bolvar's death."

So, then. Bolvar _had_ died, just like she'd felt it…

"Ah, yes, so you mentioned," said Onyx. Sam had updated her on the king's return when they landed, updated Onyx on as much as she could as she fed herself and Saya, only an hour ago. She'd spoken of Outland, Northrend, the Cataclysm… Onyx had treated the girl with bare civility. "I imagine he could not handle her."

"When Sam snuck into Stormwind, she heard many rumours among the housekeepers," said Sabel. "Apparently the girl lashed out often, things mysteriously set themselves on fire in her presence, and Varian felt it was his duty to 'cure' her."

"Disgusting. Disabilities _cannot_ be cured."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he thought it was all in her head," said Sabel. "In any case, she hasn't been the little horror to us Sam witnessed her as being in Stormwind Keep, although she's had her moments. Saya recognised Sam immediately, thanks to her Bronzeblood, but luckily alerted no one else to this fact… truth be told, I believe much of her violence can be attributed to a simple cause: frustration."

"Oh?"

"She is Bronzeblood, and apparently she will spend much of her life surrounded by Black dragons," said Sabel. "When she lives life non-linearly, she will cling extra tightly to security… such as that notebook of hers, whatever its meaning is. When her consciousness is suddenly flung into Stormwind without a member of the Black Dragonflight in sight, I expect that, coupled with the taint of the Old Gods, causes her — _caused_ her — to panic."

"And she expressed it with anger. And violence, when she is not listened to." Onyx shook her head. "As a Bronzeblood she must be beyond frustrated that she will never be listened to, simply because we will rarely understand what she talks about. How often does she switch, do you know? That is, how long will she be linear for before her consciousness from some other part of her life replaces her current one?"

"It varies," said Sabel. "She can be here for an entire day, but at other times she can switch every few hours."

"Not too bad, then."

"But could be better," said Sabel. "You can tell the difference between a younger Saya and an older one. The oldest one seems calm, quiet, her anger is silent. The younger one is more… explosive, distrusting." Sabel ran a hand through his hair. "I can understand. One moment, Saya might be in Northrend and have Sam take away this notebook of hers to do whatever with it — for example — and the next moment she's here, with us, with no notebook and Sam claiming she hasn't even seen it. The girl likely doesn't trust a thing."

"She asks how old she is."

"Yes, I've noticed that. I think that's a coping mechanism for _us_ she developed, she doesn't always do it. I think she got in the habit of doing it every time she switches times."

Snowflakes spun down from the sky. Some landed in Onyxia's hair. The world glowed violet. She rose her left hand to her eye, feeling the bone click against enchanted crystal.

"You usually possess sound judgement, Sabel," said Onyxia quietly. "If you believe Samantha still deserves to serve us then you have good reason."

Flecks of pale purple landed in Sabel's hair as he turned to look at her. "Onyxia, is it true Samia had only been with you and Nalice for a few months when she was sent into Blackrock?"

"Yes."

Sabel arched a sceptical eyebrow, then slowly said, "And she was grieving for her dead child?"

"I fail to see what relevance this has. Yes, indeed."

"... And Nalice sent her on this mission, correct? And you allowed it?"

"Yes, and your _point_?"

"You sent a dragonsworn you'd only had for a few _months_ to complete a task where failure meant _everything_ was lost, a dragonsworn who was already close to suicidal from the loss of her child?"

Onyxia blinked. "Your _point_?"

Sabel closed his eyes again and took a deep breath. "Do you not see the problem with this? How... _stupid_ that was?"

"I fail to — "

"Onyx," said Sabel, opening his eyes once again. "How could you have sent someone so _drastically_ undertrained to do something where failure meant destruction?"

"It was a simple stealth and assassination mission," said Onyxia. "It was also a test of her skills. She _made_ it, remember. Her crime was not killing her mark as she was supposed to!"

Sabel clicked his tongue. "The problem is not how simple the mission was, it was how high the stakes were. When everything rests upon the death of a single person, Onyx, _you do it yourself_, no matter how easy."

"My pregnancy meant — "

"Then why didn't Nalice do it?" Sabel snapped. "Nalice could have walked in there by herself and handled everything the Detention Block slung at her and walked out unscathed, and she sent _Samia_ to do it! She _knew_ Samia was apathetic and in mourning, she _knew_ her judgement would be affected by this, she _knew_ Samia would probably die on the mission, _and she still allowed it._ If Nalice cared so much, why didn't she do it herself? Nalice expected her to fail." His scowl deepened. "Samia told me that Nalice had grown increasingly disgusted with you over the last few weeks of your life, however emotionally involved she became with it. Don't you see? However concerned she was, Nalice has always thought that only the strongest should survive. Samia was a scapegoat, Onyx. When Samia failed, Nalice could simply blame her for it and escape all the consequences of her actions herself!"

Onyx shook her head. "She fought Orion and almost _died_. Nalice is questionable, yes, but she risked her life. I believe that if Samia had not returned, she would have walked in there and killed Windsor herself, but she didn't feel the need to because she trusted Samanth — Samia to do as she was told. She didn't think Samia would _lie_ to her."

"Yes, it was wrong of her to lie," said Sabel. "Samia understood the stakes, her mistake was in assuming a fatally ill man would die… how _stupid_ of her, pneumonia _never_ kills anyone. There is absolutely _no_ reason a _girl_ who had never killed anyone would not _jump_ at the chance to slaughter a man already dying, and then lie to someone who would have killed her for telling the truth!"

"There is no need to use your sarcasm with _me_! Samia's actions slaughtered _hundreds_, end of story!"

"You all had to make hard decisions, Onyx," said Sabel. "She's not the only one who made them, and was wrong, either." He looked away. "You wanted to know why she is still my dragonsworn, I told you." Then his voice softened. "I do not blame you, Onyx. It is not up to me to defend her, it is _my_ decision I am defending. Of course you're furious. Samia was your last hope, and she let you and the entire Flight down. Her actions led to the near-extinction of the Flight on Azeroth."

"And yet you…"

Sabel shrugged a shoulder, watching the hill up which Sam and Saya had vanished. "Nalice had, in fact, sent her on a mission of redemption; either go through the Dark Portal and make contact with the Black Dragonflight there, or die trying. She added to the difficulty by giving her an uninfused pendant."

Onyx scowled. "That would have gotten her killed!"

"That's what she intended," said Sabel. "There were wyrmcults on Outland, but they had betrayed us after Maleficent's death, and the generation of mercenaries that came across the portal distrusted us because what they dubbed the 'Stormwind Betrayal' was still very fresh in their minds. Even when Samia told me the truth, given the reasons I have already told you, I could not hold it against her." His eyes slid to Onyx's. "But it was not _my_ brood who died because of her actions. Do not ever think I am telling you that you do not have the right to be angry. Your children are dead. Of course you could never forgive her for it."

"But could you?"

"It is not up to me to forgive her." Sabel tilted his head. "It never will be. Neither do I take the naïve position of thinking you _should_ forgive her."

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

"What?"

"Be infuriatingly _sympathetic._ It's — "

"Weak." Sabel rolled his eyes. "Look where the Dragonflight's idea of 'strength' got us. We're almost extinct."

"… Indeed," Onyx murmured.

"Would you rather I betrayed you and said it was wrong of you to be angry, that you should not care for your dead children?"

"Betrayed me? _I _wouldn't care."

Sabel's mouth twitched in a faint smirk. "You are more expressive than you used to be, Onyx. Don't lie to me. You're incapable of being convincing, now more than ever."

Onyx shook her head. "I'll never forgive her."

"I know."

"And I'll never forgive _you_, either."

Something flashed in Sabel's eyes, but his expression remained neutral.

How could he sympathise with a _mortal_? He, of all people, knew what it was like to lose one's brood!

… But then, she knew why, better than anyone. She'd put Bolvar and Saya over her Flight, too.

And people died. Would have died anyway, if Orion had his way. Even if Reginald Windsor had been killed, would Romathis have found out about Saya, in the end? The imminent march on Stormwind wouldn't have stopped for Onyx.

"You were better than the others," said Onyx. "You were better than that, better than to shelter a traitor and defend her — "

"I defended only my own decisions, Onyx," said Sabel. "That is all. Forgive me if I cannot bring myself to hate those who made fatal assumptions, those who can never take their actions back no matter how much it kills them that they cannot."

"You think this is about — " Onyx shook her head again. "Sabel, _you_ never did anything wrong."

"And yet, it seemed enough for our kind to think I deserve death," said Sabel. "I, more than anyone else, can understand what it is to live with the consequences of something you cannot change."

"_You never did anything wrong_, she did!"

Sabel tilted her head. "And yet, do you have any idea how many mortals _died_ because of me?"

Onyx blinked. "What?"

"I often took refuge in villages, towns…" Sabel looked away. "Do you really think the Black Dragonflight would think, _oh, I'd better not let this village get damaged as I try to kill him!_ To the contrary, they usually stopped standing afterwards… that is why I began to keep to myself. That way, nobody got hurt."

"You never maliciously — "

"And Samia allowed Windsor to live out of spite, did she?" Sabel's brow creased. "Please, Onyx. Let it lie. I never asked you to forgive her, I only ask you to _understand me_."

Silence between them, as the snowflakes continued to spin down.

"Forgive me," said Onyx. "I could never hate you."

"You have changed." The corner of his lip quirked. "You would have been furious with me before."

"My time with the mortals…" _Bolvar_. Her children. So much _death_, so much destruction, so much war…

"I understand."

_You would, too_, thought Onyx. _More than anyone._

-o-O-o-

Ever since the Cataclysm, the Alliance's hatred of Black dragonkin had been reignited. Sam strode through Ironforge at a pace as brisk as Saya could manage, hours before dawn. During the quietest part of the night, Ironforge was as safe as it would ever be.

But it was still the riskiest thing she'd ever done.

Any hunter with enough skill would know she was associated with dragons, even if she wouldn't stick out as much as an actual dragon, but if she could fake being affiliated with another Flight in a pinch…

All the same, Ironforge still felt like the lion's den, and Samia wanted to spend as little time in there as possible. Still, she took the time to break into a shop and recover some money, as well as get Saya her damned pencil and notebook. When Saya had stared at it blankly and demanded instruction, Sam paused for a moment, before writing, _stay close, we mustn't be discovered by the mortals or we're dead_ on the first page. That satisfied Saya.

So _that_ was what the notebook was for; a way of Saya to be updated with every time she switched.

The mage she'd awoken in a dormitory within the Mystic Ward had been furious until Sam dumped the gold she'd stolen in the mage's lap. Once they were in Dalaran, she finally felt safe. It had long been deserted of mercs, and yet…

"Stop them, sirs!"

Before Samia could move, her heart hammering in her chest, the mages that guarded the city siezed her by the shoulders and held her in place. Saya shrieked and kicked at the legs of a mage. The mage swore.

"Turn them around, please!" called the first voice.

Samia's shoulders were twisted to the side as she was forced to face. Her hood fell off. The light of the full moon almost blinded her.

In front of her stood an undead, his dark hair curled behind his ears, his face oddly familiar. His triumphant expression immediately faded into perplexity as he looked at her.

"Oh," he said. "My most sincere apologies. May I ask who you are, lady?"

"My name is Amira Whitefire," said Samia. "This is my daughter Erina."

Saya snarled and hissed, until one of the mages let her go. With that she turned on the person who'd held her, arms and legs flying —

"Erina," said Sam. "Please — I'm sorry, she really hates being touched, you really upset her!"

"Control your brat!" one of the other mages barked. Sam yanked Saya away, but the girl still hissed and snarled. _Please, Saya, you can't give us away!_

To her relief, Saya relaxed, before yanking herself out of Sam's grip. She crossed her arms and glared.

She caught sight of the undead. Her eyes lit up in recognition —

"Stay quiet, Erina," said Sam quickly. "It's important you don't disturb them anymore than you already have!"

Saya hesitated. Her mouth closed.

Sam could have collapsed in relief.

One of the mages peered at Saya. "I've never seen green eyes on a high elf before. Even blood elves' eyes glow, hers aren't…"

"Half human," said Sam quickly. She looked to the undead with new eyes. _Saya knew him, this must be…_

Her heart hammered inside her ribs.

_Shit_. Wasn't it lucky that she'd —

"We are looking for a woman who has a child with her," said the undead. He sounded as if he was from Lordaeron, judging by the subtle pronunciation of his vowels, but where else would an undead be from? "A kidnapper, a traitor to the Alliance, with her victim. If I may ask, lady, what are you doing out so early?"

"We just returned from Stormwind." Sam pulled the first excuse out of her ass she could find. "There's a family emergency."

She put on the most worried face she could. Saya frowned at her, but said nothing.

The undead tilted his head, then nodded. He brought out a piece of parchment from his robes, and held it out to Sam. She took it, and looked at the sketches in front of her. "This is Samia Inkling and Sabelia Fordragon," said the undead. "Since you recently came from Stormwind, miss, I expect you have not yet heard the news that there is a curfew in place until they can be found. Samia Inkling was one of Onyxia's lieutenants, and still at large. Sabelia Fordragon is the adopted daughter of King Varian Wrynn. The reward for their capture is one million gold."

"One _million_…"

"Each. We have information that they will be in Dalaran tonight, if not tomorrow."

Sam felt cold.

_How did they find out?_

They'd been so careful, so paranoid, and they'd been waiting in ambush? They'd chosen Northrend instead of the Dark Portal because the Reds had been in the Blasted Lands, waiting for Sabel and Samia to return, expecting Nalice to hide there with them. They knew about _here_, too?

Did they know where Nalice was? Where Serinar was?

… If they had known Sam would be in Dalaran, they must. They would have to go to the agreed meeting place instead. It was too risky to go near Wintergrasp.

"Allow me to offer you an escort to your relatives' place, lady," said the undead. "It would be unfortunate for a battlemage to catch you again. Please forgive us for that misunderstanding."

"I hoped to be there quicker than this." Sam shot Saya a panicked look. The girl stared at her in puzzlement. "My daughter's so tired, perhaps an inn?"

"That is reasonable." The undead came up to her, and held out a hand. Sam hesitated, before she shook it. "My name is Eduard Von Andorhal, lady, and I'm a representative of the Eternal Watchers, an organisation that works with the Wyrmrest Accord to fight against Deathwing and the Scourge. If you have any information on Samia Inkling or the location of Sabelia Fordragon, if you please, come to one of the battlemages immediately, and you will be rewarded."

_Eduard_.

The Avatar of Northrend. She knew it.

They had come _so damn close_ to getting caught…

Sam passed the parchment back, pulling her hood back over her pointed ears. "I will, thank you."

Until tonight, Sam had dreaded the day when Onyxia would discover that she and Saya were now dragonspawn. That her daughter had been made inhuman without Onyxia's permission, that _Sam_ of all people had been Ascended for her own safety…

But at the moment, their new ability to shapeshift was nothing but a blessing.

-o-O-o-

Lirastrasza strode down one of Wyrmrest Temple's halls to the dormitories, ignoring her aching muscles and the knots in her back. She could feel the ache of her nonexistent wings. She could never get used to mortal form; she felt as if her wings stayed with her, a phantom weight on her back. Although one of the Greens had healed her ten minutes ago, she still felt the sting of the scratches on her face.

It seemed Lira's lot in life to feel what wasn't there anymore.

A drakonid stood outside the door she wanted. Lira looked up at it. "Is there yet any news of the egg?"

"Yes," the drakonid rumbled.

Lira blinked. "It's been missing for _months_, it has finally been found?"

"The mercenary who possesses it will be here within the week," said the drakonid. "The Ambassador is within, Lirastrasza. He has been waiting for you."

"I expected as much." Lira rapped her knuckles on the wood. The Heir of Earth, surfaced at last? Perhaps the Watchers could help. "His connections are a valuable asset in this war. Nalice can fly, but she can't hide… not anymore."

"Come in," said a voice on the other side.

A massive window, displaying the blinding white of the Dragonblight below, blared at her from the other side of the room as she stepped inside, its light blocked by a silhouette. The undead stood straight with perfect posture, lacking the slouch most of his kind displayed. His blue hair was tied in a gentle ribbon at the nape of his neck. He turned and bowed. "Lirastrasza."

"Ambassador." Lirastrasza returned it. "You will know by now that Nalice escaped. Is Indigosa hot on her tail?"

"Not any longer," said the Ambassador. "They are swift flyers, faster than we expected."

"Indeed," said Lira. "Nalice used to be stationed here for some time before Deathwing's return, and she practiced her speed religiously. I am not surprised. Surely, however, Indigosa would be faster?"

"Once they all outflew the Ruby forces, Serinar turned around and injured her enough the Avatar had to get involved to repair her," said the Ambassador. "She is alright, but Nalice has since disappeared."

"And no news since?"

"Indigosa still combs the sky. Nothing. They must have another meeting place decided, one we don't know about. We're waiting on Onyxia."

"The Steward couldn't find out now?"

"No, it's far too late for the discussion required, the winds are howling and nothing can be heard above them," said the Ambassador. "We will have to wait until the rest of the Obsidian Dawn land."

"The Obsidian…?"

"It's what they call themselves now. They have defected from Deathwing."

"Or so they would like us to believe."

The Ambassador paused for a moment, before he said, "Indeed."

Lirastrasza tilted her head. "Perhaps the Steward should back away, before he gets entangled."

"I think that would be prudent," said the Ambassador.

"I know how this kind of magic works," said Lirastrasza. "It taints the mind. It distorts thoughts, until you don't know who you are anymore… I assure you, Onyxia _will_ be captured for the Steward. She may be in shock, but understand, when anger descends on her she will be even more dangerous than when she was alive. Remember what she did. We can't afford to forget now. We can't afford for the Steward to — "

"We _know_," snapped the Ambassador. Lirastrasza froze, until the Ambassador rubbed his forehead. "We apologise. He has been… different, as of late, especially given recent events."

A lump rose to Lirastrasza's throat. She _liked_ the Steward. How could she have forgotten? "How is he?"

"No better," said the Ambassador. "He hasn't been well since before the Cataclysm. His duty's almost done. Once it is…"

"I have seen the work he has done, first hand," said Lirastrasza. "Is there nothing we can do to help?"

The Ambassador shook his head slowly. "Best he is allowed to die, else it could be… catastrophic. He has accepted it. The three of us — that is, I, the Eyes and the Avatar — we have orders for when it happens. Finding Nalice shouldn't take long, but take heart, he will not abandon you until that task is also complete."

"I would not expect otherwise." Lira gave a reassuring smile. "He has done the Red Dragonflight _great_ service. Please, alert us the moment Indigosa finds anything. What is the Avatar doing?"

"Eduard is in Dalaran," said the Ambassador.

"Has Samia Inkling appeared yet?"

The Ambassador shook his head. "There was a false alarm a week ago, but short of that… not a trace. Perhaps you're right, and we have been misled."

"Keep waiting," said Lira. "They may have been held up. It's only a matter of time until we get them all."

-o-O-o-

Sabel called out something, but over the wind that whipped through Onyxia's hair and past her ears, she couldn't make out the words.

The dragon landed with a heavy thud on the snow, with mountains looming tall around them. Onyxia couldn't scramble off his back fast enough and fell into a snowdrift. Of course, the damn thing was purple.

"Shit," she said, triggering an odd look from Sabel. Her mind felt fuzzy, like it had been during the entire week-long journey, as if a wet blanket clung to her. She shook herself and dusted the snow from her shoulders and hair. "Right. If they're not here, where will we find them?"

"Of course they'd be here." Sabel gave her another strange look. "Where else would they be?"

"What if they're not, though?" Damn, it felt good to be walking again. Even if she was _dead_. Pity she didn't stay dead, like she deserved, but at least that made the job easier.

Sabel's brow creased and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Onyx," he said quietly. "You're speaking strangely."

She was? What an odd thing to say. "I… am?" Onyxia blinked. "What an odd thing to say."

"Do you feel strange?"

"I'm a corpse, Sabel, what do _you_ think?"

Sabel swore in Draconic. "Of course, why didn't I — " He gave a low hiss. Onyxia jumped as the earth rumbled beneath them, and rock rose. Boulders and stone coalesced, spraying snow everywhere, into an earth elemental. With a gesture from Sabel, the elemental advanced down the slope.

"What are you doing?" said Onyxia.

Sabel's form shrunk into one of a worgen. His injured leg remained off the ground, the others grasping the churned earth, his fur shaggy.

"Whatever you do, Onyx," said Sabel. "You have to stay close. Promise me."

"What?"

"I said _promise me_, no matter what — "

"Fine, fine, of course."

"I have a bad feeling about this, a very bad feeling…"

"This is ridiculous," said Onyxia, moving forward towards the path. "The cave's down here, isn't it? Why are we _waiting_ — "

"Onyx, you just said you'd stay close! Don't — "

One of her legs gave way underneath her as she stumbled on the turned-over soil. Something glittered at her breast. Onyx paused, her fingers picking up a pendant.

A crystal, much like diamond, in the shape of a tear drop. It was set in gold, the chain fine around her neck. Had it been with her all these years? Bolvar had given this to her when Saya was born…

An urge threatened to overwhelm her, to yank it off, to cast it into the snow, _she didn't deserve it, it wasn't hers anymore_ — the hot fury that reared its head left Onyx blinking. Why would she _ever_ want to part from this?

A distant roar echoed from the mountains ahead, and in the distance Onyxia thought she glimpsed the explosion of an elemental through the trees.

"I knew it," said Sabel's growling voice. "They were waiting. Nalice and Serinar are gone, and gods know what's happened to Samantha and Saya. The Steward was listening all along, I should have _known_, but why would he be — "

"The what?" said Onyx, clambering to her feet.

Another roar. A flap of wings echoed over the mountains and Onyx looked up to see Red dragons blocking out the light.

The world exploded.

Green light swarmed around Sabellian as the earth churned and shook once again. Rocks and gravel scraped Onyx's face, flying through the air as they spun into new forms. The spirits of the earth had heard Sabel's panic, and they answered. One as big as a dragon threw itself at an enemy.

Onyx's jaw dropped. She'd always known Sabel was a powerful shaman, but she had never seen _this_.

"Onyx!" her brother yelled. "Come _on_, now!"

But Onyx's feet were rooted to the spot. She couldn't move, no matter how much she willed her legs to. She had to go, she had to…

_No_. She could stay. She _should_ stay. Fog blanketed her mind, her eyes rolled back in her head…

The elementals continued to rage against the Reds. In the distance, a frostwyrm's shriek split the sky. She heard the roar of the worgen, and as she struggled to regain her sentience she felt teeth on her wrist and rocks scraping her cheek. Sabel dragged her under the shelter of the enormous elementals. A pebble cracked against her skull. A Red fell from the sky, spraying her with blood as it collapsed a short distance away. A boulder sailed over their heads, narrowly missing them. The frostwyrm screamed again.

And then darkness.

"Fight it, Onyx!" Sabel's voice was muffled as he continued to drag her with his jaws. "Close your eyes, fight it, don't let him control you — _and for the love of the Titans keep your eyes shut!_ Damn it, we better not come across any Nerubians or we're _dead_."

Fight _what_? There was nothing to fight. She was an undead, it was only natural that sometimes the energy would fail her, she would become tired, unable to fight…

The teeth sank into her good wrist. Onyx yelped. "_Fight it, damn it!_" said Sabel. "Steward, I swear to the gods you will _not take my sister from me!_"

"The fuck are you going on about, Sabel?"

"Nice try, but my sister doesn't swear."

"Apologies, lizard, I'm not exactly thinking clearly at the moment," Onyx drawled. "You're protective. She doesn't deserve it, you know. I've heard much about you. You've always liked your mortals. Did you think what she did was _right_? You can't hide from me. I'll find you. I'll find you _all_. There are entrances to the Nerubian kingdom all over Northrend, just like this one, and I know almost every single one of them."

Sabel growled and let go of Onyxia's wrist.

The world shook, something crashed, another pebble hit Onyxia's head.

And then everything was quiet. In the pitch dark, Onyxia sat up.

"I caved the passage in." Sabel's voice sounded like less of a growl; he was back in human form, no doubt. "They can't follow us here, but we can't allow the Nerubians to find us either. The Steward can look through the eyes of _any_ undead… including you, it turns out. Gods, I didn't think he'd be able to talk through you!"

The distant roars and scraping of the elementals was almost completely muffled in the darkness. "Who's the Steward?" And what had just happened? Had she been _possessed?_

"Get up, Onyx, I'll explain as we walk, we _can't_ dally here, the Steward might know these passages better than I do and if he guesses where we are… hold on." A tearing sound, and then Onyx felt fabric descend over her eyes. "If you recognise a single landmark, they'll be on us like blackwhelps. It's important you can't see where we're going."

"It's pitch black, I do not need this!"

"The underworld is lit up, in parts. Get up, come on, _now_."

With Sabel's hand yanking at her bitten wrist, Onyxia stumbled to her feet and staggered after her brother. She heard him shift forms, and her fingers brushed against fur. Of course; when speed was essential, he was better off taking a form that gave him three good legs instead of one. He took off ahead of her, his footsteps echoing off the walls.

Onyxia ran after him.

Her ears were as keen as they had been in life, detecting open space, every obstacle on the ground, every wall, simply by paying attention to the way sound interacted with her environment. Ice froze her legs as they splashed down an underground river, her feet still bare from her run through Dustwallow five years ago. Her blindfold was briefly illuminated by blue, but she screwed her eyes shut.

"I think that's enough to lose them." After what seemed like forever, Sabel slowed. "I know this place well, I've hidden here so many times… Onyx, are you still here?"

"Yes. Can't you hear me?"

"I'm making sure it's _you_ I'm hearing. He cannot have given up _this_ easily."

"Indeed not…"

In the darkness, near silence except for Sabel's slowing panting and Onyxia's footsteps. The sand was soft under her feet. Something scuttled to her left, and she felt distant heat from her right as they entered some cavern. She tripped over a rock. Sabel waited as she climbed back to her feet. "Something spoke to you, through me. What was it?"

"Yes. The Steward." Sabel's paws crunched on dirt. "It couldn't be anyone else. I… I'm so sorry, Onyx. I never thought he'd be able to detect you from so far away. He must be so much more powerful than we thought if he could reach you at the _Steppes_. We must assume he's always listening."

"Who's the Steward?"

"Ever since the Lich King died at the end of the Northrend campaign a year ago," said Sabel, "the Scourge has changed. We expected it would crumble, that we'd kill the rest of the undead, but instead it entered a civil war. It devoured itself. You'd see entire armies of ghouls running off the glaciers into the sea, or turning on the Cult of the Damned, and even literally queueing up for Argent Crusaders to slaughter them like sitting ducks. We didn't think anything of it, but after the Cataclysm, after ignoring us for so long, they turned on _us_. They stopped fighting each other. There's barely any Scourge left, but what _is_ left is hunting us down. It doesn't eat, it doesn't sleep. That's why Serinar was desperate enough for my help, because he and Nalice were _constantly_ on the run. Whenever even one undead found him, less than a few hours later an army of Red drakes turned up on the doorstep. He needs me because he needs to learn to hide from someone who knows how, someone who's been able to avoid being killed for _millennia_."

She felt an imaginary flutter of fear, and scowled. "And this Steward? Who is he?"

"Most of the New Scourge — pardon, the Eternal Watchers — are mindless," said Sabel. "But there's four distinct figures who aren't. They're the Denizens, in control of the Eternal Watchers: the Steward of Northrend, the Avatar of Northrend, the Eyes of Guess-where, and the Ambassador ofNah_-_it-can't-_possibly_-be-Northrend."

"Please tell me that's sarcasm."

"Ugh, yes, they're _all_ 'of Northrend.' The Steward is in command, as far as we can see. There's a network between them, they're all connected. The truth is, though… we don't know who the Steward is, exactly. We guessed he was a powerful necromancer who took advantage of the power vaccuum left after the Lich King's death, but if he heard you in the Steppes enough to learn where Nalice and Serinar were, then it's worse than we thought..."

Damn. If there was some near-omniscient being keeping an eye on her…

"The Ambassador of Northrend is the being working with the Red Dragonflight," said Sabel. "I can't tell you how Serinar found this out, I'd rather the Steward didn't know. I'm sure he's listening. The Eyes of Northrend — she and the Ambassador are both frostwyrms. The Eyes is the Steward's scout. I hope the elementals got her."

"And the Avatar?"

"We haven't met him yet, only heard his name. He's some undead mage called Eduard."

A familiar voice echoed from the depths of memory. _Eduard would lose his shit if you —_

Onyx stopped in her tracks. "_Eduard!_"

"You know him? Keep _moving_, damn it!"

Onyx forced her legs to move again. "Did Samia or Nalice ever tell you about the Bronze in Stormwind Keep? About the alternate timeline? I think you mentioned as such, yes…"

"Yes, actually."

"Hora mentioned the name once. It involves the death of Samantha — Samia's child, Amandine. Hora said Amandine had to die so that Samia would fulfill some kind of task, a task _I_ couldn't do because Eduard would find out and become infuriated…"

Or would it be this mysterious Steward who, in fact, would grow angry? "Avatar"… that suggested that Eduard was some being that was easily able to channel the Steward. Perhaps the Steward could use his body as easily as he had used Onyxia's less than an hour ago.

"I thought that the task Amandine had to die for was when Samia would infiltrate Blackrock, but I hadn't met this Eduard," said Onyxia. "Hora knew I was going to die. It was part of the plan all along. But she also knew _I would come back_. She said she had trained me, that my time at Stormwind was preparation for…"

For what?

"To protect the Obsidian Dawn. To trigger events that would culminate in the saving of Azeroth, in the purification of the Aspects, so that Alexstrasza doesn't kill them all."

"We are on a quest to save the world? Brilliant."

"The Bronze told me that they'd succumb to the Old Gods, that Alexstrasza would turn on them one by one, and then reveal herself to have been under their thrall all along…"

Sabellian swore. "It's already begun. Malygos was defeated just under two years ago, not long after the Wrathgate."

"The Wrathgate?" Wait — "Samia told me about that before she left for Ironforge, I recall now. She said important figures on both sides died…" Apparently the Alliance commander, whose name Samia had said she'd forgotten, had been a cherished hero of the Alliance.

Sabel didn't respond for a long moment. "Indeed."

"I should stay behind, Sabel. It's not safe for me to come with you."

"I won't have the Steward using you against us," said Sabel. "I'm not letting you go. Even if it weren't just sentiment — it may be possible for Serinar to track the Steward through you, and then we can find and kill him. The power may — no, never mind, I'd rather he didn't hear that. As long as you don't know where we are, and by extention, the Steward, we will be fine."

"If Serinar is alive."

Again, Sabel was quiet for a long moment. "If he is, yes… but he has to be. He and Nalice have survived this long… the Steward was right to fish through you. There _is_ another designated meeting place, a fallback. And we're going there."

"Samia and Saya may not be there. The Steward would have heard that they were going to Dalaran." A sudden surge of heat overtook her. How could she lead that _little girl_ into danger?

_Aha_, said Onyxia._ Hello, Steward._

The anger vanished as quickly as it came.

Nothing answered. Except Sabel. "He wouldn't have found them."

"Are you so certain?"

"There is something I did not tell you before, something I will not tell you now. We have a secret weapon, one that would make it very easy for them to hide. Ironforge was the most dangerous part… if they can make it to Dalaran, they will be safe. Dalaran's empty of mercenaries these days. They'll see it was an ambush, and they will meet us at the new place."

"I hope you are right, Sabel."

"So do I." Sabel's footsteps crunched on gravel. "Onyx, I know you were away from home for a long time, in Stormwind, but this… this isn't home anymore."

"What?"

"The Flight." More crunching. "Everything we know has changed. This is war, Onyx, and nothing's ever going to be the same again."

-o-O-o-

Travelling through Northrend with a temperamental five-year-old was the worst thing Sabellian had _ever_ put Samia through. After only a week, she had only barely made it to Zul'Drak. Ordinarily she'd have gone through the Dragonblight and via Light's Trust, but a troll merc she'd met on the road had shaken his head. "The canyon you'd go through is swarming with ice giants and jormungur," he'd said in perfect Orcish. "It'd be deadly enough for you, but with a child…"

Thank the Light for the troll. Any Alliance race would have shrieked in horror, _you're taking a child through _where_, you horrible person?_ But trolls… well, they'd be used to escorting children through dangerous lands, wouldn't they, seeing as they lived in tribes rather than cities? Well, used to, anyway.

Truthfully, Samia agreed with the Alliance, but Sabellian seemed unconcerned by the idea of dragging a child through Northrend all by herself. Sabellian seemed to trust her skill in combat, which was half heartening, half terrifying.

"Come on," she said to Saya. "Not so long to go."

Thankfully, Saya had been switching often enough lately that she had no idea Sam was lying. Sam preferred it this way; more than once on the journey she'd had to defend herself from an enraged five-year-old.

Did the girl switch more often when she was stressed? Could she _willingly_ switch, or control where she went? It would be something to suggest to Sabel when she arrived at Drak'tharon Keep. Having long ago been cleared out of the Drakkari by mercenaries, it would be the safest place to be right now…

… Unless the Steward had discovered _it_, too.

"Where's Onyx?" said Saya, for the sixth time in twenty minutes. Sometimes she asked in Orcish, sometimes she asked in Draconic, or Common. Once she'd even asked in Dwarvish, but Sabel had only gotten around to teaching Sam two languages in the past few years.

"We're looking for her," said Sam for the sixth time in twenty minutes. "I think the Reds found them."

"Reds?"

"Yes. Red dragons."

"Oh."

Sam tilted her head upwards as something swooped overhead. She swore, pulling at Saya's wrist. "This way, come on, _quickly_!"

"Why?" said Saya.

"Frostwyrm! They want to kill us all."

"Oh." Pause. "Why?"

"Because they think we're with Deathwing." Sam pulled Saya off the side of the road and curled up at the base of a tree, watching as the frostwyrm wheeled around. _Shit_. They'd been seen! Sam wrapped her cloak tightly around Saya, who hissed and struggled. They had both been in the forms of trolls ever since running across the merc, but a frostwyrm would see through that trick. "Please, Saya, we have to stay hidden."

That did it. The girl went still.

"They're patrolling." Samia's voice was a murmur as the frostwyrm skimmed the trees. It had to be the female, the Eyes. What was her name? Indigosa? "They're looking for us."

"I needed a break," said Saya.

"Shh."

"_Don't order me _— "

Samia clamped a hand over Saya's mouth. When Saya sunk sharpened teeth into her palm, Samia winced, but didn't make a sound.

The ground shook as the frostwyrm landed nearby. Saya's struggles stopped. Samia pried her hand free. Samia barely noticed it dripping blood as they both pressed into the ditch. _If she sees us, if she finds us, it's all over…_

And yet, a dim part of Samia's mind acknowledged, this was odd. Why land and hunt them? Why not follow them from a distance, find Nalice that way, unless —

Unless Nalice and Serinar had been caught and killed.

Samia swallowed the lump in her throat. _It can't be over, not so soon…_

"Samia Inkling," said a rasping voice. "Sabelia Fordragon. I would wish to have a word."

Fuck.

Samia sat upright. An undead woman stood on the road, at the top of the ditch, her scraggly blue hair reaching down past her shoulders.

"And this is how the Avatar did not find you in Dalaran." The undead woman took them both in. "I did not think the Black Dragonflight would be so desperate as to bestow the Draconic Gift upon you two so soon."

"Indi!" Saya brightened.

The undead woman tilted her head. "Ah, yes. You are familiar with Eduard, I have heard, so there is no reason why you would not also be familiar with me."

But Saya hadn't given them away in Dalaran, how did the frostwyrm know that? Saya had mentioned Eduard from time to time, yes, but…

The frostwyrm bowed. "I have heard much about you, Saya. Samia. I come in peace. The Steward is not with us. He knows not where I am, and expects me to patrol, but the Avatar allowed me some privacy and the Steward is not aware of where I am for now. What I offer you is independent of his will, and goes against what he insists he desires."

"What do you want?" Samia rose into a crouch. If she had to attack...

Bloody hell, how could she take on a fully-grown _frostwyrm_? Like hell the Steward wasn't present. She wasn't about to fall for any tricks.

"My name is Indigosa, and I bring you your salvation," said the frostwyrm.

Fucking dragons always spoke like melodramatic villains in a bad novel.

"I am under the service of the Steward of Northrend as his eyes. The Eyes of Northrend..." She paused there, dreamily, before she continued. "My will is independent of his, although I work for him. He is caught in a web of magic and needs the assistance of the Black Dragonflight more than he is willing to believe... it has come to our attention that Onyxia and her kin are independent of the Black Dragonflight."

"So why are they still hunting us?"

"Because the Steward's corruption taints his thoughts," said Indigosa. "He fights hard, but does not know what he thinks anymore. The Taint that controls him makes him unwilling to bury long-held grudges, nor allow the murderer of his friend and people to go unacknowledged. _I_ believe that Onyxia and the Obsidian Dawn must survive."

Samia stared, slowly drawing her sword. Her injured palm strung against the hilt. "And how did he find out we're independent?"

"He has his ways." Indigosa tilted her head, but didn't seem offended by the weapon. "He needs your help. You fight Old Gods, too."

Sam straightened. "'Too'?"

"Our master is dying," said Indigosa. "The Steward is in danger, and he is a powerful necromancer. If he falls to the Old Gods there will be yet another undead apocalypse. We have worked so hard to prepare for that eventuality... it is what the undead civil war is all about. The Eternal Watchers have destroyed as many of the Scourge as possible so that when he succumbs at last, the Old Gods will have less to work with, however in the end that may prove fruitless, for they shall simply rebuild. The Old Gods must be destroyed, once and for all, to free the Steward. _And_ to free your kind, Inkling. We must work together, although the Steward will not consider it. So I and the Avatar of Northrend have decided we must reach out to you."

"And you will stop hunting us."

"_We_, personally, will stop hunting you, although we are only two people," said Indigosa. "We can be heralds of danger, and be your eyes so that the Steward will not ever take you unawares. The Ambassador remains to be convinced, and if the Steward hunts you there is little I and the Avatar can do... but we can assist you. We can hide you away as we work to find a way to defeat the Old Gods. Will you help us?"

"What are the Old Gods doing to him?" As Sam spoke to Indigosa, Saya watched with a smile.

"He is in a precarious position," said Indigosa. "He has survived for a long time, but he is besieged by immortal forces. He is dying, and so weak. His body is still mortal. It is only the source of his magic that keeps him alive, and the more magic he draws, the more easily they can corrupt him. If he were to be disconnected from it, he would die. If he were to heal his body with it, he would succumb entirely to their influence."

Sam tucked that useful piece of information away.

As if she'd read her mind, Indigosa tilted her head again. "I tell you that to stress to you the precarious position the Eternal Watchers are in. The precarious position the _world_ is in. If the Old Gods get access to this font of power when the Steward dies, Deathwing won't be the only threat this world faces." Indigosa straightened. "You must go to the Pit of Narjun. When the time comes, Eduard will find Onyxia and send her there, and she can lead you to refuge. Once there, we can speak again. We have an opportunity for you, one that will allow us to save both your Dragonflight _and_ the Steward, and by extension, the rest of the world."

"I... see," said Sam. "Pit of Narjun. Right. Opportunity, you say, what _is_ this opportunity?"

"Perhaps you've heard of a female dragon called Nyxondra?" said Indigosa. "She has a child."

Before Sam could open her mouth, Indigosa raised a hand to silence her. "The Steward wishes to speak to me," said Indigosa. "I must go before I endanger you. Stay safe. I will return to carry you there, Samia Inkling."

And with that, Indigosa shifted and took to the sky.

Saya stared at the place where she'd been, then said, "Right, let's get out of here before she comes back, _now_."

There was no way in _hell_ Sam was falling for this. Whether Saya liked her or not, she was lucky Onyxia hadn't turned Sam into a pile of ash yet.

But what did Nyxondra have to do with anything? Sam barely knew the dragon, she'd never even met her, she was only a name that Sam had heard. One of the last females, found dead in the Badlands...

What did she have to do with this?

Onyxia and Sabellian had to be told about this.

* * *

_**A/N:** Bloody hell this was long._

_Just a reminder, if there's ever any problem with chapters going up (whether it's due to RL stuff happening or what), there's a link to a tag on my tumblr on my profile here, where I'll post if something goes wrong._


	47. Dead Ends and Hopelessness

**_A/N:_**_Apologies for the really late chapter, and thank you to my betas._

_Next chapter will be up at the usual time if it kills me._

* * *

**Chapter Two**

* * *

After a while Sabel's limping strides slowed and dragged. His footsteps scuffed against the ground. Every now and then Onyxia heard a stolen yawn, a slight stumble.

"You flew a long way," said Onyxia. "You need to rest."

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," was all Sabel said.

Sometimes the sound of their footsteps bounced off walls and boulders, and at other times it echoed into voids resonating with heat. Every now and then, Sabel called out, "We're about to walk over some web so be careful," or, "There's some eggs at your feet" or "Staircase. Never seen stairs as steep as the Nerubians make them…"

At other times they passed crumbling rocks covering passages, accompanied by scraping and clicking from the other side. Sometimes, instead of the clacking of Nerubian mandibles, the sounds were deep, rumbling echoes that whispered and twisted into Onyxia's mind, until Sabel siezed her wrist again and dragged her away.

"Faceless Ones," said Sabel. "Yogg-Saron may be dead, but he's not the only Old God out there, and their minions are still alive and well. That's thanks to mercenaries."

Wait. What? "Is it… _safe_ to kill Old Gods?"

"C'thun carked it after you did, and most likely not. There's still at least two or three out there, I believe, and with every one that dies the elements get more and more upset."

"Because Azeroth becomes more and more damaged?"

"Indeed." Was that a twig that cracked underneath Sabel's foot? "Before the Cataclysm occurred the elements grew stressed, invading cities and settlements all over Azeroth. They still _do_ on rare occasions. People blamed Deathwing, but I wonder if that was truly the case." There. That was _definitely_ another twig, and a faint breeze on Onyxia's face. "The mercenary class _know_ by now that destroying all the Old Gods will have us _all_ dead…"

"But they persist? _Idiots_." Onyxia resisted the urge to snatch her blindfold from her face. If only she could smell the breeze! "But how do we fight that we cannot kill? There _must_ be another way… the Bronze hinted it."

Unless it was more manipulation from the Bronze. Onyxia was alive again, but that didn't mean she had been promoted from pawn. "Have you heard from the Bronze at all, Sabel?"

"No," said Sabel. "All I know of her was what Nalice told me."

"We will have to be on our guard."

"Indeed," said Sabel. "Come on." She heard another stifled yawn. "I'll have to take you in with me, I don't want the Steward to pull anything without me here to stop it."

"This is too dangerous."

"I will _not_ allow you to die again." Sabel snatched her wrist. "Come. We _will_ find a way."

"As you wish."

Sound stopped bouncing off cavern walls and started bouncing off trees, instead, and wide open space. The sun seared her undead skin.

Sabellian swore, and stopped in his tracks. "Oh, no…"

What? What could possibly upset — "Sabel?"

"_Shh!_"

Onyxia shut her mouth. Leaves rustled in the trees above. The wind picked up, whipping the grass against her. Birds called. Far away she heard the whinny of horses and the gurgling of a stream, and...

Hissing?

Onyxia strained her ears. Hissing, and crackling...

Fire. An elemental?

Why would Sabel freeze in place for an _elemental?_

Another swearword. "We've been seen," said Sabel. "I'll have to kill her. Stay _right_ there."

"What are you — ?" said Onyxia, but her brother transformed until she heard the rushing and panting of a worgen fading away ahead of her. She heard a shrill scream and the sizzle of a fireball. She smelled burnt fur...

The crackling grew louder.

Onyxia stepped forward. Something crunched underneath her foot. She knelt and placed her good palm against the ground.

She felt grass, and then... a patch of heat so great she yanked her hand away. After a moment she felt around blindly, looking for the contours...

"She's dead." She heard Sabel's growling voice in front of her, and another whisper of fabric as his shape returned to that of a human. Then, "What are you doing?"

"This is a footprint," said Onyxia.

Silence.

"It's a footprint made of burnt grass. Someone was on fire..." She reached around. "There, another, and... another. These footprints are spaced close together. They were on fire, and they were _walking_. This wasn't an ordinary fire elemental... what did you just _kill_?"

"I'd rather you didn't know," said Sabel. "Trust me. I need to think about this, I didn't know they existed, I suspected, but..."

"Do not treat me like a human infant!" The footprint began to cool in front of her. "What is she?"

"Dragonsworn."

Dead silence.

Onyxia said, "She wouldn't leave footprints like this unless — "

"Unless her Ascension was incomplete," said Sabel. "I know. Her skin was on fire, she wore no clothing because it would be incinerated if she did, the grass burned underneath her feet. She was a walking fireball. Inhuman, but not quite dragonkin, an Ascension interrupted."

"Or a punishment." Gods. How many Dragonsworn had Onyxia heard of over the years that had been left in limbo, neither human nor dragonkin, out of punishment? "Others of our Flight must be taking Dragonsworn again, none of the other Flights ever did it…"

"They've been taking Dragonsworn by the _hundreds_," said Sabel. "But they've been Ascended without discrimination."

"Our Flight is in Northrend? They must be hunting us, wanting to know why we're not with them — "

"It's not our Flight."

Wait.

What? "But no other Flights _do_ this! Which Flight?"

Sabel sighed.

"You're not going to tell me." Onyxia clenched her fists.

"No," said Sabel.

"Why on Azeroth _not_?"

"Oh, I don't know, having a necromancer constantly eavesdropping on your thoughts probably has _nothing_ to do with it."

"As if he couldn't guess by looking at it himself! Why can't _I_ know?"

"Onyx, this holds far more meaning than what it appears," said Sabel. "I cannot afford for the Steward to piece it together."

"How would it be different if he found out what Flight caused it through _me_?" said Onyxia. "Especially when he has the undead at his disposal! Why does it matter why _I_ would know what Flight did this? _What are you not telling me?_"

There was a long silence, before Sabel said, "Bolvar Fordragon is dead."

"What?" She snorted. "I knew this already, you confirmed — "

"Confirmed. You thought he died earlier, that he died during or after your exposure, didn't you?" said Sabel. "Else you would have asked for details of his death when you asked me."

Onyxia blinked. "He survived? But the Suicide Squad attacked him..." at the confused pause, she said, "The dragonspawn attacked him. I _saw_ it."

"He and the Brotherhood of Cinders took them down," said Sabel. "No. He died later."

"When?"

"Samia lied. I allowed it, she wanted to protect you from the truth, she knew how attached you were to him."

"I need no one's _protection_!"

"Bolvar Fordragon was the Alliance hero that died at the Wrathgate."

"So." Onyxia screwed her eyes shut behind the blindfold, shaking her head slowly. "I knew he was dead either way, the only difference was _when_ he died. What does that…?"

Dread seeped into her.

_No_. Not him. Not _him_.

"You understand what this means, Onyx?" said Sabel. "He is the one who gave the orders for you to be killed."

-o-O-o-

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Onyxia," said a familiar voice. "In spite of your lack of pulse I see you are up and about. I suppose little can stop you from ruining your Flight, since your first attempt gave you little satisfaction."

So much death, and her beloved niece was _alive_!

"Which reminds me," said Sabel. "Nalice, don't say anything incriminating, the Steward is looking through her."

"I _was_ being sarcastic," said Nalice. "However, by _all_ means, proceed to leave her lying around so that the Red Dragonflight can come down on all our heads! I'm not certain we are in _enough_ danger!"

Onyxia's chest ached. She was so much like her father. Hearing Nalice's voice brought back memories of the corridors of Stormwind, of Saya stirring in her womb, of the smell of pollen on a warm breeze.

All gone, now.

Thanks to _him_.

"_He'd better thank the Titans he is dead_," Onyxia had finally said, after the long silence following Sabel's announcement. _"Or I would hunt him to the ends of Azeroth and make him _pay_."_

"Sabellian," said a new voice. _Serinar_. "The Steward can hear us and you _brought her straight here?_"

"This is where _you_ can put your skills into use, perhaps," said Nalice. "You have dabbled in necromancy, have you not? Undoubtedly there is a necromantic connection to look for."

"I don't think that would fix it all," said Sabel. "But take a look, see what you can find."

A hot hand yanked Onyxia forward, the wrong size to be Sabel's. She hissed, but Serinar said nothing, prodding and poking her. "Yes, I feel it, it's strong."

Something drained from Onyxia. The sudden emptiness left her blinking. "Did you remove it?" said Onyxia.

"Yes," said Serinar. "Now take off that infernal blindfold."

Onyxia rose her hand to her face. "Are you _certain_?"

"No," Sabel interjected. "It's better to be safe than sorry."

"Do not question _me_, whelp!" said Serinar.

"If you are wrong, Serinar, we all die. I have my suspicions, Onyxia, and if they're proven to be true, removing the blindfold will get us all killed."

"And let me guess," said Onyxia, "I am not going to be privy to these suspicions?"

"No," said Sabel. "If I tell you, the Steward finds out, and if I tell Nalice or Serinar they're bound to tell _you_."

Serinar snarled. "I removed it, I _felt_ it go."

"Don't let your arrogance kill us all."

"_Watch it_, whelp."

"Is that you speaking, Serinar?" said Onyxia. She dropped her hand by her side. "Or the Old Gods?"

"No Old Gods control _me_." He snorted. "Perhaps you're weak enough, but _I_ am not. I know corruption when I see it."

"Yes, that is what everyone _else_ thought and look where it led us."

"The reason most of us are dead is thanks to _you_."

"I do not see you blaming Nalice for her part in it," said Onyxia.

Serinar ignored her.

She heard a small flutter of wings. Something cooed by her shoulder. "Jet," she said, holding out her arms.

But Jet hissed and flapped away.

Serinar snickered. "A true son of the Flight, not disgustingly sentimental. How you _have_ changed, Onyxia," he said. "Sabellian — fine. She'll keep the damn blindfold on, and we'll isolate her. Jettion, take her somewhere secluded. We must plan our next move."

"I have to say something first," said Sabellian.

"Then get on with it!"

"There is much more to hiding than any of you will know." Sabellian's voice echoed off the stone walls. "For one, hiding is not merely hiding. We must know our objective, and our objective is to keep Nalice safe. We must remember there are alternate ways to achieve a goal — "

"The short version," said Serinar. "Now."

"You don't want to hide," said Sabellian. "You want — "

"We _do_ — "

"Are you going to listen or not?" When nobody said anything, Sabel continued. "You don't want to hide, you want to keep Nalice _safe_. Do not confuse your goals. The most efficient way to do this is to hide, but if we stash ourselves away in a hole we'll die in it. There is much more to hiding than that. There is misdirection, there is the disposal of waste to think of, there is food to hunt. Every action leaves traces, and it's these traces we must disguise. In addition to that, we must remember the _big_ goal. Hiding will keep Nalice safe temporarily. What will keep her safe _permanently?_"

"Enlighten us, then."

"Simple. Erase the reason why she's in danger to begin with."

"_Simple?_"

"Simple, but not easy." Sabellian turned back to the window. "What would give the Red dragons incentive to _not_ kill us?"

"Since you know everything, do tell," crooned Nalice.

"The Old Gods," said Onyxia. "The Old Gods corrupted them, just as they did us."

"And the rest of the world is angry for what this Flight has done," said Sabellian.

"Angry for establishing our dominance?" said Serinar.

"We're not dominant anymore," said Onyxia.

"When you get to the top of the pile by hurting everyone beneath you, the pile will turn on you, and it has done just that," said Sabellian. "We need to be redeemed in the eyes of the rest of the world. And what better way to do it than to defeat the Old Gods that plague the world? If _we_ were the ones to defeat them, if the Obsidian Dawn was known to be responsible _and_ the Reds were purified at the same time…"

"They would stop hunting us." Nalice raised her head.

"It is out of the question," said Serinar. "If the rest of the world cannot accomplish this, how can we hope to?"

"I can assure you, if we are not the ones to do it our chance has been lost forever," said Sabel. "Even if the Reds purify themselves, they will still think us the enemy."

"We _are_ the enemy."

"And how will being their enemy help us one bit?"

"Are you suggesting we make things convenient for _them_?" said Nalice. "Why should we? They are the ones killing _us_, they owe _us!_"

"Nalice, do you truly think they are going to turn around and _apologise?_"

"How can you think we should win _their_ game?"

"Because I am the one who has survived," said Sabellian. "I have survived _thousands of years_ of being hunted, Nalice. You've only been pursued for a few months and you're close to death already. I survived because I forsook pride, because I made connections, because I made it inconvenient for people to kill me to the extent that even _Deathwing_ brought me into his army. Hiding isn't just running and keeping away from people. It's far more delicate than that. If you want to hide, you're going to have to forget vengeance, because vengeance is the first thing that will give you away."

He paused, and said, "Onyxia. I recommend you find a safe place to hole yourself. There are other things I need to discuss with Serinar."

"I have some things I should tend to," said Onyxia. "Jettion. Be a good whelp and lead on."

-o-O-o-

"Drak'Tharon," said the Ambassador. "They're in Drak'tharon. All the signs point to it — the sun was on the back of Onyxia's head, meaning she was heading north, up some stairs. There was grass, which eliminates most of Northrend, and there were trees. What cinched it was that we heard a particular bird call we identified as native to Grizzly Hills. She's in Drak'tharon, I'd bet my life on it."

"Good, then we'll go immediately — " Lira paused. "No. They _are_ a force to be reckoned with. We'll have to wait until Nalice lays, they'll be at their most vulnerable then. Put the Avatar on it."

"Consider it done." At his usual place by the window, beside Lira, the Ambassador laced his fingers together. "Eduard's on it, but attacking while Nalice lays her eggs? That is… low."

"We must do what is necessary," said Lirastrasza. "This is _war_, Ambassador."

She stopped by the window and gazed out. Any day now the egg would be here…

"Onyxia cares about Sabellian," said the Ambassador, suddenly. "The Steward felt it. He did not expect that a Black dragon could care for anyone."

"They don't."

"She does."

Lira's frown deepened. "Ambassador, you must be his anchor. He is weak enough, he may not have the strength to pull back from Onyxia's mind. We _need _him."

Silence, for a long moment, as the Ambassador and the Steward communicated in their silent way. The winds whipped over the snowfields below, sending flakes spinning through the air. The stars twinkled down on them through gaps in the suffocating clouds. Whiteness began to obscure the trees in the distance.

"Did you think we had forgotten?" said the Ambassador. "Did you think we had forgiven?"

One by one, the stars outside vanished, and so did the world. Lirastrasza's grip on the windowsill tightened. "What has the battle of the Wrathgate got to do with this?"

"It's not about vengeance," said the Ambassador. "We cannot forget what she did, we cannot forgive. No matter Onyxia's motives, the people of Stormwind did not deserve to die. Even though she sympathised in the end, she would not have fought her own Flight to protect them from Nefarian. No amount of justification will take back what she did." He gazed at his rotten hands. "They would have died in the end, anyway. It was better Stormwind killed them before they killed Stormwind. That's what war is, and you are right, Lirastrasza; this _is_ war."

Lira tilted her head, but said nothing.

Putress didn't need an Old God or Ner'zhul to kill people, what was it like for a man who fought the darkness of _both_? What could the Steward be capable of?

Once upon a time, the Ambassador had been away with Indigosa. In his stead the Avatar, Eduard Von Andorhal, had stayed at Wyrmrest Temple. One night Lirastrasza had walked past the Ambassador's quarters to hear ranting and raving coming from inside.

She cracked open the door.

"It's alright." Inside, Eduard paced back and forth across the room, alone, hands pressed to his ears. "I'm here. Stay strong. Fight it. Come on. You're stronger than he is. You're not Ner'zhul. You've been blending with him too much, you're stronger than this, Bolvar, please — "

"_Damn it!_" The Avatar roared, clenching his fists and storming to the other side of the room. "I am tired of this, I am _tired of chronic insanity_, if it's not a dragon it's a tentacle monster, if it's not a tentacle monster it's a _feldamned orc_ — "

The Stormwind accent switched back to a Lordaeron one. "It's alright," said Eduard. "It won't last forever. We're not far from done. Please, it's alright…"

"He won't shut _up_, he won't shut _up_, he has nothing to lose and I have _everything_! How am I supposed to fight this — "

"_It's alright_." Eduard's tone became soothing again. "We don't have much longer to go, only a few months and Azeroth will be able to fend for itself… the Scourge are disappearing. Shh."

"I can't die." The Stormwind accent came back to Eduard's voice. "There's always another Old God waiting in the wings, Yogg-Saron's death didn't make a difference. Ner'zhul will do _anything_ to get his power back, I don't have to be alive for him to use my body. How can I just give up and _die_ when the Watchers need me?"

"They will understand. Without the Helm you can't survive. They're different. You're bringing the Scourge down with you, it's _okay_…"

"The Watchers live a cursed life, Ed!" The Avatar's hands waved around. "They can't even play cards without setting the damn things on fire! They can't embrace each other, their loved ones — the ones that didn't kill themselves are damned to stay here until their bodies give out. What are they going to do without me? I'm all that keeps them going."

"They're stronger than you think they are, and so are you. _Hold on_. You have to keep fighting, Bolvar."

"You have to keep fighting, Bolvar Fordragon," said Lirastrasza, back in the present. "Nobody else can do what you can. Once Nalice and Onyxia are dead, you… can do as you will. We only need them to be found, then it'll be alright."

The Ambassador said nothing.

Lira looked behind her at a knock on the door. A Red drakonid appeared in the doorway. "The Dragonqueen wishes to see you both."

"And the Ambassador?" said Lira.

"She would appreciate his attendance."

"Thank you." Lira gestured to the Ambassador to follow.

The drakes that guarded the top of the temple were gone, leaving Alexstrasza exposed. A magic shield surrounded the chamber, leaving the air cold but undisturbed by the gale that blew around the tower. Only the faintest breeze disturbed the Dragonqueen's hair. Alexstrasza's large horns jutted out of her head, like…

Like the spikes on the egg she held in her arms.

Heart fluttering, Lirastrasza bowed. "Mother."

"Lirastrasza." Alexstrasza held the egg as a human would hold an empty box to discard. "And Ambassador. Do we have the privilege of the Steward's attendance?"

"He is here," said the Ambassador as he rose from his bow. "He passes on his salutations and utmost respect."

Alexstrasza smiled, passing the Ambassador a nod. "I am afraid we have a problem."

"Deathwing?" Lira's eyes trawled the nearly-deserted chamber. "Dragonqueen, where is Chromie?"

"That is the problem," said Alexstrasza. "No, I am not here to discuss Deathwing today. Nozdormu has been found, and the Bronze Flight struggles to free him from the tangle of the timestreams, however their battle with the Infinite has rendered this part of time inaccessable to them."

"… What?"

"They cannot meet us here, in their future or in their past," said Alexstrasza. "There are no Bronzes on Azeroth at all right now, all fighting alongside Nozdormu. They will meet us on the other side, but until then…" She held up the egg. "This is the Heir of Earth, Nyxondra's son or daughter. It cannot stay here. Wyrmrest is not safe, it has been overtaken once…"

_Thanks to you_, Lira thought, but stifled her resentment. Any grief was powerful, but what dragons called "Mategrief" was worse. A mortal who'd been married for fifty years could barely move past a death, and for a dragon who'd been mated for fifty _thousand_…

Lira was surprised her mother was alive after Korialstrasz's death. Dragons had died with grief from severed relationships only a fraction of that length. The other dragons had changed the way they looked at Lira, had murmured whenever she wasn't looking, had prepared her…

… Just in case yet another Aspect had to be replaced, and in the middle of a war with Deathwing, too.

"I beg your pardon." The Ambassador cut through her thoughts. "What do the Bronzes have to do with the purified child?"

"The plan was to take the egg either into the past or the future," said Alexstrasza, "and to hide it until it hatched, then bring it back at an opportune time. We cannot have an _egg_ the Aspect of Earth, after all."

"Will a child be much better, Dragonqueen?"

"A pure child is better than a corrupt adult." Alexstrasza gazed down at the egg.

_And so much easier for us to control_, said a small voice in Lira's head. _It will look to the Reds as its parents, and a child _always_ wants to please its parents._

"A child always wants to please its parents," said Alexstrasza, as if she'd read Lira's mind. "It will not follow the way of the corrupt Flight. Lira, come here. Hold this for me."

Lira took the egg, and fought the sudden urge to drop it. The Black Flight didn't deserve _redemption_, they deserved nothing more than to be scoured from the surface of Azeroth. This was a _favour_ from the Red Flight, nothing more. They had gotten on without an Aspect of Earth for ten thousand years, did they need one _now_?

"This is the Eye of the Watchers." Alexstrasza pulled a small orb from the satchel by her side. "This is the Titanic device used to purify the Heir of Earth. The mercenary involved took the liberty of recovering this after it flew away from him."

"It's tiny," said the Ambassador.

"It used to be bigger," said Alexstrasza. "It is the _only_ device of its kind that has been uncovered in tens of thousands of years, and it was completely depleted purifying a mere egg, that is why it shrunk. Only a child can lead the Black Dragonflight because there is no hope left for the adults. They cannot be purified. There is _nothing_ to purify them."

"What of the children?" said the Ambassador.

Alexstrasza lowered her hand, clutching the orb. "Nothing can save them either, Ambassador. The Black Dragonflight will not be repopulated. It is good, in a way, for in the last few thousand years and _especially_ in the last decade, their reduced population has resulted in more and more inbreeding… most living whelps are related in some way." Alex looked to the egg in Lira's arms.

"So the Heir is likely inbred? It's not Deathwing's child?" Lira looked up. "Then how is it… can't you feel the _power_ this egg holds?"

"I can feel it," the Ambassador murmured.

Alexstrasza shook her head. "Nyxondra was only a few hundred years old and even then she was small for her age, most likely due to inbreeding. When Deathwing raped his consorts, most of them died. Nyxondra would not survive mating with him, therefore the father of this egg could be anyone. It is likely it will be born without _obvious_ defects, however do not be surprised. Many of the newer generation of Blackwhelps have weaker bones or susceptibility to disease."

"Then where is all this power coming from, if it's not inherited?"

"When the Old Gods corrupted the Black Dragonflight, they choked off their connection to the earth," said Alexstrasza. "Although some will still be able to tap into it, with great effort, most of that power goes untouched. This whelp, however, will be able to use it with little effort, and almost have it all to itself."

"What are we going to do until the Bronzes come back?" said Lira. "Do we even know when they will come back?"

Alexstrasza shook her head. "Right now, the safest place is the Vermillion Redoubt. It's at the doorstep of our enemy, but it is the most highly-protected place in Azeroth right now with our drakes gone and the Bronzes unable to assist us."

"How are we going to get it there?" said Lirastrasza. "The merc who brought it here must have been on the run the entire time!"

"Dodging the Aspect of Death is not an easy task," said Alexstrasza. "I hoped to recruit the assistance of the Steward."

The Ambassador straightened. "What is it you wish, Dragonqueen?"

"Nalice will die within the week," said Alexstrasza. "Once that has been accomplished, I wish to utilise the services of the Eyes. I want Indigosa to take the egg to the Redoubt once the Obsidian Dawn are dead."

The Ambassador bowed. "Consider it done."

"Not now?" said Lira.

"There is still time," Alextrasza took the egg from Lira. "That will be all, thank you."

"Dragonqueen," said Lira. "Perhaps I could have a word with you in private?"

"Of course," said Alexstrasza.

"By your leave, Dragonqueen." The Ambassador bowed. "The Steward thanks you for your time."

"And I for his."

When the Ambassador was gone, Lira said, "May I speak freely, Mother?"

"Of course." Alextrasza continued to hold the egg, gazing down at the spikes jutting from its surface.

"I question the wisdom of confiding this in Bolvar Fordragon," said Lirastrasza. "He may have done the world great service by using his position to eliminate the Scourge, but… I believe he is beginning to sympathise with Onyxia. His mind is too tightly entwined with hers, and he is growing weaker every day, and so the risk of the Old Gods using him against us gets worse."

_But they wouldn't_, said a voice in Lira's head. _He is not weak._

"Bolvar Fordragon is not weak," said Alexstrasza.

Strange, how she seemed to read Lira's mind sometimes. _But then, it is just coincidence… great minds think alike, after all_.

"Regret and sympathy may be the heralds of betrayal, but must never be mistaken for it," said Alexstrasza. "Bolvar Fordragon is the most trustworthy individual on Azeroth _because_ of what he faces and fights. He is the only mortal to have ever stood his ground against the Old Gods. When he is weak, he will die. He will _not_ succumb." She stroked the egg. "Lira, if I must be honest, I ponder if salvaging what is left of the Black Flight is truly a good idea. Do we need an Aspect of Earth? Why do we not use a mortal instead? Thrall is up to the task, he is all we need…"

_He's not a dragon,_ Lira wanted to say, but aloud instead she said, "I think that is a good idea. The Black Flight cannot be trusted, _any_ of them, and — "

"What am I thinking?" Alexstrasza frowned, and shook her head. "This is a child. _The_ only pure child of the Flight. It must be given a chance." She held the egg out in front of her, staring at it like a piece of fine jewellery. "Or perhaps…" Her frown deepened. "It does not matter. Once Indigosa takes it out of our hands, fate will do with it as it wills."

"What will Corastrasza call it, when it hatches?" said Lira. "Will she name it according to Black dragon tradition?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I feel unwell." Alexstrasza lowered the egg. "I must rest. I will keep the egg secure until Indigosa's work is done. Once I have rested, I must discuss Deathwing with Ysera."

"What of the Eye of the Watchers?"

Alextrasza's eyes drifted back to the satchel at her side. "There's nothing that can be done with it. Perhaps, when the child comes back, we can give it to them. An heirloom, of sorts. It is rightfully theirs…"

-o-O-o-

There was no wildlife in the blighted land, no bats, no trolls, leaving the deserted roads of Zul'drak eerie and silent. Only the scuttling of the occasional insect reached Sam's ears as she carried a sleeping Saya on her back, only the sound of a dying breeze rustling the leaves of the trees above. The frozen aqueducts loomed high above her.

In any other part of Azeroth dawn would have broken long ago, but in Northrend's winter even the stars were covered by clouds.

With a sleeping Saya on her back, Sam trudged on and dragged her pack behind her. Although her legs burned in pain and fatigue, she kept putting one foot in front of the other. Who knew how long Indigosa would be gone? What if one of the Scourge showed up? The only undead Sam had seen thus far had been scattered in pieces all over the ground.

The Northrend campaign was well and truly over.

A crumbling sound caught Sam's attention. She froze, looked up, but relaxed when she saw an earth elemental rumbling towards her. "It's alright," she said. "You can tell him I'm almost there."

So Sabel was there, then, but what about Nalice and Serinar?

She waited for the elemental to disintegrate; for its spirit to rush through the earth and appear almost instantly at Drak'Tharon, but instead it approached her and lowered itself to the ground. Sam blinked at it, but didn't hesitate for long. She lowered the sleepy Saya from her back, moving the child to her arms as Saya stirred and grumbled. The elemental rose underneath Sam.

It made a nice seat.

"Thank you," she murmured. Saya's fist curled in Sam's mucky shirt. What she wouldn't give for a bath…

It was hours until they arrived at Drak'Tharon, near to dawn. Saya twitched and groaned with bad dreams. From time to time Sam glimpsed another elemental in the trees, watching over them carefully, keeping an eye out for Scourge.

Drak'Tharon Keep loomed in the distance. When the elemental carried them to the entrance, Sam stopped it and stepped down, hoisting Saya onto her back. Her footsteps echoed in unison with the rumbling of the elemental by her side as she walked through the passages.

There was little telling where they would be in a month.

"Nalice wants to go to Karazhan when she's laid," Serinar had said with a roll of his eyes, with the Blade's Edge sky casting orange light on his skin. "She wants to split up and for us all to go our own ways."

"Too dangerous," said Sabellian. "No. We will stay together. Bring her here."

"No. The Reds are watching the Dark Portal," said Serinar. "We'll have to shake them off when we go through. If we're unlucky, we'll have to fight them."

Sam stumbled across a chamber with a rather cramped, irritable Black dragon within. Sam had to stop herself from grinning, but it was difficult when she was so sleepy. Nalice's hulking form growled at her. Sam gazed at the swell of her stomach. How many eggs were _in_ there? "You took your time, dragonsworn."

Sam straightened as much as Saya and her burning body would let her. "It's been a while since we've spoken, Nalice. I never passed on my thanks for the uninfused pendant!"

Nalice snorted. "It was a test, one you passed. _Surprisingly_. Now get out of my sight."

"Where's Sabellian?"

"Up the stairs. Right _there_, idiot."

Sam took a look at the stone steps to her left and muffled a groan.

At the top, gazing out at the forest through a window large enough for Onyxia to fly through, stood Sabel, his shoulders stiff. With her legs screaming as she knelt down beside him, Sam coaxed the child off her back. Saya grumbled.

"You are safe." Sabel turned to look at them.

Sam took in his appearance. "How long since you last slept?"

"Doesn't matter."

"You look _exhausted_."

"I've been tired since this whole thing began." Sabel looked to the smaller dragonspawn. "How was Saya?"

"She switched a lot. That made it easier than it could have been." Sam spread out a bedroll and lay the snuffling child down, putting the blanket over her. "Thanks for sending out the elementals. I'm glad Nalice is safe. I've got news."

"So have I."

"Is Onyxia alright?"

"She is fine," said Sabel. "No, this concerns my… hypothesis." He glanced down the steps to where Nalice curled up, pretending to sleep.

Recognising the look, Sam rummaged in her pack for Saya's notebook and pencil, and passed it to him. He held the pencil for a moment, frowning as he gazed at his daughter. "She would tell Onyxia," he murmured. "Onyxia cannot find out. The Steward would torment her with the knowledge… we cannot allow that to happen."

He wrote, _We ran across an unascended dragonsworn in Grizzly Hills._

Sam felt the blood drain from her face. "Oh," she said quietly. "Are you sure…?"

_It was of the Red Flight_, Sabel wrote. _So the rumours are true._

People. On fire. Walking around Northrend.

She fished for another pencil. _There can't be many of them, if this is the first we've encountered._ She stared at the page, feeling hollow inside her chest. _The Red Dragonflight doesn't leave their dragonsworn initiated, they'd either follow the ceremony through or kill them._

Sabel took the notebook.

_Hypothesis one: unitiated dragonsworn of the Red Flight running around Northrend: confirmed._

_Hypothesis two: they were created by accident. Rather, not by accident, but as the natural byproduct of a different motive._

"A cleansing," Sam murmured.

_The Wrathgate_, Sabel wrote. _I have spoken to Serinar about the site. He confirmed that after the Red Dragonflight killed the Scourge there, flowers grew on the site. Red dragons can use two different fires, just as we do; destructive and purifying. The purifying fire is what I used to Ascend you._ He glanced at her. _With your drink of dragon blood combined with the purifying fire, you were transformed into dragonspawn. However, without drinking the dragon blood you would have become as they are, with your body eternally burning, your human form remaining, and extreme pain. The unitiated dragonsworn must be from the Wrathgate, soldiers caught in the Reds' fires, its magic strong enough to bring back the dead._ He tapped the pencil against the page before he continued. _They were not sighted after the incident. They vanished completely from sight; either the Reds hid them, or the Scourge captured them._

She took the page. _And it links back to the Steward either way. The Steward works with the Red Flight, the Steward is part of the Eternal Watchers, AKA the New Scourge. Whether they were captured or hidden, they would have wound up connected to him one way or another._

Sabel nodded. "My long shot is not a long shot anymore, not with this sighting."

Sam glanced back down to Nalice, who peered at them.

"What secrets are you keeping from me?" said the Broodmother.

"Things that will be revealed in due time," said Sabel, before he pressed pencil to page again. _If the Red Dragonflight are working with the unitiated dragonsworn, this can only mean one thing: Bolvar Fordragon is still alive._

"And on fire," Sam muttered. "Great."

_But what about his link with the Steward?_ She wrote. _Have you got any evidence for that?_

"No evidence," he said. _But their connections grow tighter together. We do not know for sure that the unitiated dragonsworn are with the Eternal Watchers or with the Red Dragonflight, but it is reasonable to assume they are with one or the other, depending on whether they were captured by the Scourge or hidden by the Red Flight. _

His handwriting, already swift and messy, sped up into something almost indecipherable. _The unitiated dragonsworn (U.D.) would follow a leader, they would congregate with one another because they would have nowhere else to go. This leader would be Bolvar Fordragon. His body was not found, it was burned and he became one of the U.D. Consequently, it is reasonable to assume he would have been captured by the Scourge, and therefore it's highly likely that — _

Sam looked at what followed. "I can't read that."

Sabel sighed, and slowed down. _Therefore it's highly likely that if the U.D. were not captured, they would have sought him out. Bolvar Fordragon would have been liberated when the Lich King was killed, and done… what? Stayed there, with his people, for lack of anywhere else to go. With their condition they couldn't go back home, they'd burn down Stormwind._

_Now, the Steward_, he continued to write. _The Steward loathes the Black Dragonflight. Why, unless he had a personal vendetta? Who else would have a vendetta aside from Bolvar Fordragon?_

_He wasn't a necromancer_, Sam wrote. _The Steward is as powerful as the Lich King w_

She didn't finish.

Slowly, Sabel wrote, _They never said what they did with the Helm of Domination._

"You're _joking_," said Sam.

_Who better to give it to than a man who can't go back? Someone who is already a leader? Someone who has a score to settle with Onyxia? Someone who was once under her power, who now has _her_ under his power? Someone who has Saya's best interests at heart? Someone who would use the power of the Helm to destroy the Scourge? How else would Bolvar Fordragon have a link with all the undead? How else would a powerful necromancer get access to Onyxia's mind the moment she awoke? Simple: he didn't have the power. The link was already there._

"So that's why you brought her." Sam looked down at the child at her feet. "And he had access to her mind? _That's_ how he found out I was in Dalaran!"

_If this hypothesis is correct_, Sabel wrote, _Saya's presence could mean the difference between living and dying __out__._ _Onyxia must not know, because if I am right and the Steward knows she knows, he could utterly torment her._

"But how would he torment her?" said Sam.

_Their link_, said Sabel. _He can see her thoughts, see what she sees. Nothing is secret from him, just as you described nothing of his was once secret from her. He is angry. Do not underestimate an angry man with nothing to lose._

Sam heard a flutter of wings, and Jettion appeared at Sabel's shoulder. Sam tried to smile. "Jet! I haven't seen you for a while."

Jet hissed at her.

"He has been temperamental since the return to Azeroth," said Sabel. "He is so young. There weren't Old Gods on Draenor." He tore the used pages from the notebook. As he clenched his fist around them, they burned to ash in front of Sam's eyes. "Think about what I said, Sam. We have to be careful. I may be able to think of a plan."

"He didn't tell Onyxia himself."

"I know. That makes me wonder… still, she must not know." Sabel frowned. He rubbed his temples and screwed his eyes shut. "This is problematic. I wonder what the Steward planned to do with himself once his job was done, just waste away?"

"Have you got another headache?" said Sam.

Sabel scowled, placing his hands by his side. Jet fluttered to the ground and shoved himself in Sam's pack. "What would be the point of sitting there doing nothing? He must have plans for after."

"Sabel. Have you got another headache?"

"I wonder what those plans — "

"Stop ignoring me." Sam glared at him.

"No."

"Have you got another headache?"

"Does it _matter_?" Sabel shot a glare down the steps, but Nalice hadn't moved, eyes still closed.

Sam stifled a groan. He couldn't honestly care what _Nalice_ thought, surely? "Stop being a masochist," she said, as Jet emerged from the pack with a green vial delicately held between his teeth. Taking it from the whelp with a grateful smile, which only triggered another annoyed hiss, Sam tried to push it into Sabel's hands. In a whisper as low as she could manage, she said, "You're not impressing anyone by ignoring it it. Please. You're tired, and I can tell your stress level's through the roof as it is, you don't need this on top of it."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You haven't given me _one_ sarcastic quip since I got in here, all you've done is smolder."

"I do not _smolder_."

"You're smoldering _right now_, now take the damn potion."

A small snicker came from Nalice down the stairs. Glaring at Sam, Sabel finally took the vial.

And threw it out the window.

Sam gave her patron dragon the best icy glare she could summon.

He glared back at her.

Their staring contest was interrupted by a shriek from Saya, who bolted upright in bed. "_Go away, go away, go away!_"

"Oh, hell." Sam knelt beside the girl. "It's alright, Saya, it was just a dream — "

"Where am I?"

"Drak'Tharon Keep. It was just a dream, Saya, shh — "

"_Where am I? I want to go home!_"

"_Damn it, Sabel_, I need help, they're going to hear this in Icecrown — "

Saya started screaming. Nalice's growls didn't stop her as Saya pummelled Sam's chest with small fists. "_I want to go home, take me home, why are you so cruel? I never did anything wrong, why do you hate me?_"

"I don't hate you, I don't — Saya, _stop_, right now!"

Sam's commands fell on deaf ears as Saya continued to scream and thrash in her arms. Sabel tore things from Sam's pack, until he uncovered a blue vial. "Saya, this will help you sleep — "

"_It's poison, get it away from me, you want to poison me!_"

"Shit." Sam manoevered herself behind the struggling youth and pinned her arms to her sides. "If there are any Reds nearby they're bound to have heard — "

She yelped. She smelt smoke as something burned her arm. Sabel swore in Draconic, patting at Sam's arm, before he thundered in a voice so deep even Sam's blood was chilled, "_Saya, I swear to the Titans, if you don't stop that racket _right this second_…"_

It worked. Saya stopped struggling. Sam breathed a sigh of relief, her heart hammering at a thousand beats a second.

Sabel knelt beside them as best as he could, gently taking Saya's chin in his fingers. "Do not _ever_ hurt Sam again, do you understand?"

"I c-can't help it — "

"Sam was restraining you to stop you from hurting yourself and her. Do not _ever_ hurt her again, Sabelia. Apologise. _Now_."

But Saya burst into tears.

Sabel let go of her chin. "I know, Saya. You had a bad dream. The Old Gods affect us all, including you, and you had a bad dream and they told you things that you think are true. You're very young right now, aren't you? Just a little child in a corrupt body, a body that might be even older than you are right now. We're not trying to poison you, we don't want to hurt you, and we don't hate you. But if our enemies hear you screaming like that, they're going to come right here and hurt us, Saya. Can you be quiet for us? Can you keep us safe?"

"B-but you deserve to die," said Saya, through her tears. "You took me away from home." Then she burst into a fresh flow of tears. "The monsters said they'd kill Onyx if I'm bad."

"I can't believe this," breathed Sam. "What they're doing to a _child_…"

"The monsters are what want to hurt Onyx," said Sabel. "They want you to scream, don't they?"

Saya nodded, through her tears.

"And if you scream, people who also want Onyx to die will come," said Sabel. "Do you promise to be good and quiet if we take you to Onyx?"

Saya nodded again.

"What," said a new voice, "the _hell_ is going on?"

Sam groaned. Storming up the steps came Serinar, a glare etched deeply on his head. Sabel's tired features went blank.

"The child had nightmares," said Sabel. "It has been sorted."

"Does it want us all _killed_?" said Serinar, sneering at Saya. "If the Reds descend upon us all, it'll be all _its_ fault!"

Saya didn't even sniffle. She gazed in Serinar's direction, but not directly at him.

_So_, thought Sam, _she's old enough to know Black dragon convention, but young enough to believe the dreams the Old Gods give her_.

"It's sorted," said Sabel's blank voice.

"You're supposed to hide us." Serinar turned on Sabel. "You're supposed to _help_, and yet you've made nothing but one poor decision after another. First Onyxia, then _this_ rat. Have as much pity as you want, but when you expose us to outright danger not once but _twice_, I begin to seriously question your judgement. Do you _want_ Nalice dead? Kill it. It's a risk to all of us, _kill it_, it is useless and a burden."

"She was born mortal — " said Sabel.

"And? So? With you making excuses for such weak atrocities, it's little wonder you're so useless yourself."

"I'm sorry!" said Sam. "I wasn't aware that you needed the help of such useless people, _my mistake_!"

On her bedroll, Saya cringed. A muscle in Sabel's face twitched. Serinar turned a disgusted look on her.

"And the fact he relies on such a _whelp_ to defend him only makes his weakness even more glaringly obvious," said Serinar.

"You _wanted_ us to help — "

"Indeed, I didn't want you to play 'let's interfere with nature's work!' when there are undead about," said Serinar. "We cannot afford to be burdened with such a useless creature, I will _never_ understand why you all insisted on bringing her along. Onyxia's child is an abomination to the Flight - "

"Go fuck yourself," said Saya suddenly. "Jerkass."

Dead. Silence.

_Did she say that?_ Thought Sam.

Even Nalice, at the bottom of the stairs, rose her head and a ridged eyebrow.

Slowly, Serinar's head turned to regard Saya. "Give me _one_ good reason," said Serinar, "as to why I shouldn't kill this little _blight_."

But before Sam or Sabel could say anything, Saya looked Serinar in the eye and said, "Because I will _fuck your shit up_, and everyone will let me purely to put themselves out of their misery from having your company inflicted on them!"

Sam's jaw dropped, and looked at Sabel. His expression was stony, unreadable. Saya continued to stare at Serinar.

Serinar smirked. "How _amusing_. I believe her swearing at a fully-grown dragon is more stupidity than bravery, but how _amusing_."

And with that, he walked away.

"Did that just happen?" said Sam. "I'm not sure, but did that _really_ just happen? Where did she _learn_ that kind of language? Was that future-me's fault? That sounds like the kind of thing I'd say. Shit, sorry."

The thunderous look Sabel shot her froze the blood in her veins.

"Don't _ever_ do that again," said Sabel.

"What, swear? Well, Sabel, I'm _so_ fucking sorry — "

"You kn— " Sabel paused, and shook his head. "No, I never told you. Don't defend me."

"He was being a — "

"I don't care," said Sabel, then his face twinged. "No, I... am sorry. _He_ doesn't care. In the Black Dragonflight, to defend someone in front of their face is... thought to be a way of a stronger person to compensate for a weaker one."

"I'm sorry?"

"Basically, to him and the others, if you defend me, they'll take it to mean my own dragonsworn thinks I'm so incompetent at defending myself she has to help."

"You _are_ incompetent," came Nalice's voice.

"Oh." Sam ignored her. "I'm sorry."

"And so am I." Sabel sighed. "I should not have been short with you, now or earlier, you were only attempting to help. Yes, my headaches are acting up again, and defend me as much as you wish, nothing can _possibly_ happen to make the others have any worse of an opinion than they already do."

"The fact you care for our opinions only proves how weak you are," said Nalice.

"Jump off a bridge, Nalice," said Sam.

"You first."

"To defend oneself, depending on your caste, can be seen as either normal, or another sign of weakness," said Sabel, suddenly. "If you're already seen as weak it's seen as a humiliating attempt to gather what strength you have left. Defending your own damn decisions is looked down on. If you're the shitstain of the Black Dragonflight, you're supposed to raise your damn chin and put up with _everything_ everyone throws at you, so that they don't have to change _their_ behaviour, so that they don't have to feel guilty or have second thoughts for not acting like decent human beings — " he stopped.

"And that is exactly the problem, we are not human." Nalice closed her eyes again. "Now shut up so I can sleep."

"You're right, Nalice," said Sabel. "You aren't human beings. You couldn't even achieve _that_ level of decency if you tried."

Sam twitched in mild offence. "Onyxia never seemed too bad." She watched Sabel carefully as he rubbed his temples again. "She was a lot kinder than Nalice and Serinar, in Stormwind Keep."

"Onyxia has always been different," Sabel murmured, loud enough for Sam's dragonkin ears to hear but quiet enough that Nalice, down the stairs, couldn't. "Once upon a time she had a... fall from grace within the Black Dragonflight. Killed someone she wasn't supposed to have killed."

Sam remembered. Onyxia had told her about the dragon that had mated with her by force, and how she'd been cast out and trodden upon for killing him.

"She spent a lot of time with me after that," said Sabel. "In the process of healing she softened as much as I imagine the Old Gods would have let her. She wasn't around that cut-throat society, only me and a few mortals. She could be quite kind at times, although I'd be surprised if she remembered. Once she'd been accepted into the Black Dragonflight again it was a culture shock for her, she quickly had to adapt, and the kind Onyxia disappeared. Sometimes, however, I still see traces of her. Ever since, she still gives me more tolerance than the rest do, allows me to do as I will no matter what her judgement of it."

"There's only four of you now," said Sam. "It's not impossible the next generation of dragons will be different. Before, there was just you and Onyx who wasn't... like that. You were outnumbered, overwhelmed, but now you're not like that anymore. Maybe Nalice and Serinar will change, and the children — "

Sabel snorted. "Yes, perhaps. Have I told you of the weather predictions for Hellfire Peninsula? I hear they have quite the blizzard!"

Sam smiled. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

-o-O-o-

In Stormwind Keep, she'd been forced to sit around and do nothing whilst the battle raged around her, whilst Nalice and Sam fought her battles and the Black Dragonflight fell apart around her. Once again, she found herself in the same position.

This time, Onyxia would be _damned_ if she accepted it.

After following the sound of her son's fluttering to a quiet, dark room, Onyxia spent hours prodding at the connection with the Steward. For hours, the Steward ignored her. His lack of action unnerved Onyxia more than it comforted her. Why didn't he use her, unless he had no reason to?

So much had changed, so much would never be the same again. She'd never know pregnancy or motherhood again, not in the way she used to. She'd loved whelps, but at least she had Jet and Saya...

No. Now was not the time to dwell on the past.

The Steward had to die. Unfortunately, he wasn't going to die any time soon and he was privy to every single thought he cared to, in such a way she wouldn't even detect.

_Who are you?_ she called out into the abyss, for what felt like the millionth time that day.

There was no answer, again. Maybe if she yelled loudly enough, he'd hear her, but — no. There was little doubt he was listening...

Then again, that was a self centered way to think. What use was there eavesdropping into an empty room, or raising an alarm by having her stumble out of it?

_I will hunt you down,_ said Onyxia, _And I will kill you. How slowly and painfully depends on how cooperative you are. Where are you?_

Of course, if he answered those questions, he could just erase her memory. Again, and again, and again. She was powerless.

_I know that's you speaking,_ she said. _You may be too much of a coward to use your own voice —_

Hm. Sounds familiar.

_What?_ she said.

Wipe.

She found herself sitting there, blinking, with the vague sense she had missed a few moments of her life. She frowned. The Steward again, it had to be. _Who are you?_ she called out. Deja vu niggled at her. _Damn it, are you going to speak to me upfront or not?_

Of course not, why would he _want_ to? Ugh. Dragons.

_It's because of you I'm stuck in here. Give me some answers. Now._

Make him. Oh, wait, she couldn't! What a _shame_, now she should shut up so he could do his damn job because that constant, stubborn nattering was driving him up the _wall_.

She scowled, sitting back, frustration boiling within her. _What is your 'job', anyway?_

No answer.

_I am undead,_ said Onyxia. _Chances are, you are too. I have no qualms about irritating you for the rest of eternity until you speak, you wretch._

Ugh, didn't she _see_? He had power over her. Complete, total power. How nice it was, to be at someone else's complete mercy.

_Ah_, she said. _Go ahead, then. Do something._

Silence, which only caused her brows to ascend. _Empty threats, then. I am not intimidated, Steward._

"You're the most irritating creature I've ever had the misfortune of speaking to," said her body. It stood of its own accord, spoke of its own accord. "I'm bored. There's not much to do these days, you see, and it's hard to ignore you, I'll admit."

Jettion fluttered into the air and hissed.

"Will you _stop that_?" she snapped.

Her body went still. "Stop... what?" it said. "This?" He wiggled her fingers, then she felt her mouth widen in a grin. "Oh, I know! I should make you dance!" Her body laughed. "Or maybe I should punch you in the face!"

Onyxia's limbs refused to obey her, and so did her face. She couldn't even blink. _What do you want from me?_

"Could you die, please?" said the Steward with her voice. "Permanently, I mean."

_All I want is to protect my people._

"And you almost brought down another civilisation in the name of it," said her body. "I don't trust you, Ony."

_You can read my mind, for the Titans' sakes! You can know me, inside and out, and —_

"I don't believe that," said the Steward.

_Whyever not? Doubting your own power, are you?_

"I'm not arrogant, so don't try to appeal to my ego," said the Steward. "If I truly knew you inside and out, surely it would bother you? This is complete and utter mental violation, a concept that wouldn't be foreign to _you_ from what _I've_ heard. So why doesn't it bother you? You're hiding more from me, aren't you?"

_It bothers me,_ said Onyxia. _But I came to terms long ago that the mind is not the safe haven we think it to be. The Old Gods have eavesdropped on my thoughts for ten thousand years and altered them as they saw fit, I've seen other people's minds —_

"Seen? You _violated_ them, Nyxxie."

_Why would I care that you've taken up residence in my head, too? _said Onyxia.

"You're not honestly blaming _Old Gods_, are you? Is that your excuse for everything you've done?"

_It's no excuse, it is a reason —_

"People _died_!" her body shrieked. Her fists clenched of their own accord, her face screwed up in the Steward's anger. "And you're blaming _Old Gods_! As if you weren't responsible for your own damn actions all along, as if you never wanted anyone to die out of malice, as if you never did a cruel thing in your life! Rather than acknowledge what you did you hide behind Old Gods and _it's not my fault, really!_ and _oh no, the rest of the world is persecuting us!_ No, Onyxia, they're not persecuting you, they're putting you down like the dogs you are! You lost every right to live on this world when you began eliminating others from it. You're a cancer, you're a tumour on this world, and we're getting rid of you _all_."

_You have no right to kill the innocents —_

"Like you did, you mean?" said the Steward. "Oh, wait, I'm supposed to be better than you, that's what the Reds tell me. You know what, Ony dear? At this stage, I don't care who's better than who, because I will do everything in my power to make sure this new age — an _Obsidian Dawn_, if you will — doesn't come. Your kind don't deserve it"

_And who do you think you are, to punish us?_ There. She could twitch a finger, she —

Had an idea —

No. Blank the mind. _Keep it still, keep everything hidden, don't think, don't think, don't think of the idea —_

"Just what are you hiding?"

He wormed around in her mind, but she kept it blank. Kept her eyes shut, concentrated on the darkness, on the flapping of Jettion's wings. The connection flared with his irritation, and she held it at bay.

"Damn it." The Steward sighed. "You're ten thousand years old, of _course_ you have some mental discipline. Which just proves what I said earlier; you're capable of hiding things from us. Do you think, Onyxia, that even if you didn't that would make you deserving to live? We killed you and your kind for the same reason you did, Onyxia: to keep _our_ kind safe. Why do you think _you_ have a right to live over us?"

She lashed out.

In a flash, her consciousness surged up the unwitting, unguarded connection. Oh, the link went both ways, how _interesting_, how —

_Familiar_ —

But the Steward fought back immediately, stripping newfound knowledge she didn't realise she had from her, leaving her shocked and not knowing why, leaving her flailing and searching for everything as he let go of her body, as she began to scream, as she shook her head with her own volition and shrieked everything she could find before it could be lost —

"_Drak'tharon!_" she yelled. "_They're in Drak'tharon, they're in Drak'tharon, they're in —_"

And then that bit of memory was erased from her, too, until her body collapsed to the ground, every single spark of will unconscious.

And the Steward said, _damn it_, before his consciousness fled.

-o-O-o-

Indigosa straightened on her perch in the hills. "Eduard," she said. "We're going to have to start the attack early — "

"He knows," said the undead beside her. "Alert the drakes, Indigosa."

_I really wish_, said the undead's voice in its mind, _that you'd warn me before you take over._

_Sorry, Ed_, said the Steward. _We have a little problem._

-o-O-o-

"Onyxia," said voice. "Wake up! How did he find out?"

"Know what?" Onyxia batted at the nearest purple, fuzzy figure in her vision.

Damn it, did the Steward make her _faint_? Snarling in humiliation, she sat up.

"Maybe he didn't find out from her," said Sam. "Maybe she found out from _him_. Onyxia, Nalice started laying an hour ago, Sabel's stopping it so she can get out."

Onyxia yanked off the blindfold. "You can't _stop_ the laying process!"

"People tell Sabel he can't do something a lot," said Sam. Onyxia recognised the troll motifs on the walls behind her. "His response is usually to flip them off and do it."

Onyxia gazed up at Sam, whose panic-stricken face stared at hers. "Sam. The Reds will come after me, the attack will happen quickly now the alarm's been raised… where is Saya?"

"She's asleep," said Sam.

"Get her," said Onyxia. "And get _out_. There are entrances to the Nerubian kingdom all over Northrend, look for one, make sure you lose them because they'll be smelling you out. Take Jettion with you. We cannot let Stormwind get Saya again. Please, take care of her as if she was Amandine."

"Where do I take her?"

"How do I know? Just _get out!_"

Sam nodded, and fled.

Onyxia staggered into the main chamber, the dregs of the energy the Steward stole from her filtering slowly back to her. Nalice hissed in low pain as Sabel stepped away. "That'll do it," said Sabel. "That has to do it." His eyes swept around the chamber, taking in the eggs that already lay scattered around Nalice's body. "We'll have to abandon them, we can't take them with us."

"You made her eggbound?" said Onyxia. "That'll _kill_ her — "

"Only if it's not reversed within the week," said Sabel. "That buys us some time, if we don't do it she'll die _now_."

"You better know what you're doing." Beside Nalice, Serinar's face was thunderous.

"I hope you don't," said a new voice.

Everyone's heads snapped up to the ceiling.

A dead man stood on a balcony overlooking the chamber, his hard eyes fixed on Onyxia's. His expression looked bitterly resigned, with every shred of resentment aimed at her, boring into her. His black hair, lank, curled on his shoulders, his robes neat and orderly. His face looked familiar, somehow, reminiscent of someone...

_Leonardo Withering_.

"Close, but no," he said aloud. "_Lady Katrana Prestor_, allow me to introduce myself. I am known as Eduard Von Andorhal."

"Eduard." She was dead, but her mouth had never felt this dry before. "A Bronze dragon once told me about you, but you're not Eduard Von Andorhal."

'Eduard' tilted his head. "And what makes you say that, little lizard?"

_You're undead,_ Onyxia said. _Your last name is 'Von Andorhal'... so by all means you should be from Lordaeron. And Eduard Von Andorhal is, I don't doubt that. But you? You speak with a Stormwind accent. Eduard Von Andorhal is known as the Avatar for a reason. You're my dearest friend, the Steward. Showing up to taunt me. Again. Or…_

"He's distracting us," said Onyxia. "Nalice, get out _now_!"

"You would be correct." The Steward crossed Eduard's arms.

Without arguing, Nalice dragged herself up the stairs towards the open space at the top of the stairs, and squeezed through to freedom. Skipping steps, Serinar followed.

"Thank you, for being so kind as to send Samia Inkling and Saya Fordragon straight into our arms," said the Steward. "Sabelia doesn't deserve to die for her mother's sins. I won't let her get caught in the crossfire." He smirked. "See you in hell, Onyxia."

And with that, he turned and disappeared into one of the many halls above.

She heard a faraway roar and the answering shriek of a frostwyrm.

And then they were here.

Reds, everywhere. The same drakes that had waited in ambush. In spite of their measures, they'd found them anyway. She heard the distant rumble of earth spirits coalescing into stone in answer to Sabel's call, listened to Serinar's infuriated roar echoing through the trees.

Onyxia transformed, and charged up the stairs with a roar.

She siezed a drake in her jaws and tossed it aside, smashing it against the wall. Breathed fire — _no_. Dark purple fire, bathing the drakes in front of her. Their screams pierced her ears.

And then the anger came.

She saw her dead children in front of her, saw the determined looks of the Brotherhood of Cinders as they heralded her death, felt her despair as she looked at the little broken bodies littering the cavern, saw Bolvar's face —

They were going to _pay_.

Claws scraped at her hide, red fire clung to her useless wings, jaws pierced to her leg. Skulls broke, wings shattered, tails tore from bodies. Her tail lashed out, her fire found an adult dragon hovering by the opening, her horn gored its neck. Sabellian had disappeared. She saw no one else, heard the frostwyrm, felt —

Her energy, draining.

_The Steward was taking her energy!_

Her limbs grew heavier. She fought, she struggled, but a swipe found her jaw. Her vision winked out on her left side as something clinked on the ground. Claws shredded her neck, shrieked against her stomach plates, her legs gave out.

She struggled to keep her eye open.

"_Don't kill her!_"

An unfamiliar voice. A female's. Blue hair, another undead face. A Red dragon swooped through the opening, face scarred by Onyxia's own claws, shifted, shrunk —

"I wish we could," said the Red, in the form of a blonde high elf beside Onyxia. The scratches on her face oozed blood. "I see the Steward is doing his job well. She fights hard, but she will be out like a whelpling's flame soon enough. Onyxia, I am Lirastrasza. Hello and goodbye, see you once you get to Wyrmrest."

"Wrynn will want to know where Saya Fordragon has gone," said the undead woman, crouching beside the Red. _The Eyes. Indigosa. The frostwyrm._

The Steward continued to drain Onyxia. She struggled against him like a moth caught in the hollow of someone's hands as he drew at her energy. _Please_, she said. _Help me. Don't let my kin die for anything I did..._

_This is war, Onyxia,_ said the Steward, voiceless. _You never cared when our kin died, when the Defias razed farms and slaughtered villagers. Why should I care for anyone on your side? Why are you surprised?_

_Please_, she said. _Help us._

And then everything went dark.

Again.

* * *

_**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! I'll get back to answering reviews next chapter, I've been ill in the last week. Which is partly why this chapter was such a pain to get out._

_**JustMe**: Hey, do you have somewhere I can contact you at? If it's alright I'd like to ask you some questions!_


	48. The Eggs

_**A/N:** Holy crap, guys. Five hundred reviews. FIVE HUNDRED. EEEE. Thank you to everyone who has ever, at any point, left their feedback. This story's become so much bigger (in more ways than one) than I thought it would, and I'm so happy there are so many of you around for the ride._

_Thank you to Coincidencless for being my beta for this chapter!_**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

* * *

_Samia._

The memory of Sabel's voice spoke to her.

_One day, we may need to run._

In the distance, Samia heard the shriek of a frostwyrm.

_You've never had to run before, not like I do. Hiding from guards for picking pockets is different to being pursued by people who will kill you when they catch you._

But Sabel had been wrong. Imprisonment was worse.

With her pack bouncing on her back, Sam yanked Saya through the brambles of Zul'Drak. She heard Jettion's rasping panting behind her. Saya shrieked and stumbled after Sam.

_If you've done it well, you won't ever be put into the position where you can do nothing but run, but I've prepared you for it nonetheless. If you have to run… don't look back. Look forward, don't waste time turning around, don't bother covering up your tracks. Speed and endurance is all that will help you here._

Saya gasped. "Stop, I'm tired, it hurts, _please_ _stop_ — "

"We can't stop!" said Sam.

"I want Onyx!"

"Onyx is waiting for us." The lie came easily, although Sam's breath felt as if it would explode in her chest, every breath scraping down her throat like sandpaper. A branch almost tripped her up, unexpected in the gloom. "Onyx wants you to be safe, come _on_, Saya — "

_Keep your wits about you. You don't want to run into certain places — they're called dead ends for a reason — but sometimes, you may need to take a risk, and if that's the case, Titans help you._

Wings swooped overhead. As if to fend them off, Jettion shrieked.

_Use everything at your disposal. Don't save it for later. There may not be a later._

The underbrush fell away as Sam flung herself into a ditch. She scrabbled in the dirt, dead grass pulling away in her fingers as she searched. "Come on, we have to keep looking, keep hunting — _aha_!"

_Don't stop to hide unless you know they will not find you._

Not a second too soon. A drake roared above her. Sam tore away the long grass in front of her to reveal a gaping hole of darkness. Jet alighted on her back. His claws dug into her pack and shoulders as she dragged herself through and into the waiting cave.

_Be careful you do not run from one enemy right into the arms of another. As a dragon, it is not a risk for me, but you are human and small. There is plenty that could hurt you._

In the pitch darkness inside, Sam twisted her ankle on rocks. She didn't wait and blocked out the pain as she stumbled and staggered, the sharp stones threatening to cut into her soles. Saya stumbled again. "Come _on_!" said Sam. "Don't stop or we're _dead_!"

Behind her she heard the faint whoosh of displaced air as the drakes shifted into mortal form to fit inside the entrance. A breeze from another exit caressed Sam's face. She could turn here, run for that entrance, avoid them, keep running —

_Do not think like someone who needs to hide, because your pursuers will use that mindset in order to find you. Think like them. Where would they look? What do they know of you? What will they do with that knowledge? What will they assume?_

The Reds didn't know the Nerubian kingdoms. They'd assume she wouldn't stray far from the surface, that she wouldn't risk getting lost, that she'd play it safe.

In the dim light the passage split ahead of her. From the wide one to her right she felt the breeze touch her hair. The other was pitch black, narrower than Samia's hips.

_Then do what they do not expect_.

Without a pause she ran to the left, shrugging her pack from her back. Jettion fell with it and shrieked. She didn't look back to him as she shimmied herself in sideways, pulling the girl after her. The rock scraped the back of her head and her nose. Saya whimpered, clinging to her arm. Something crawled in Sam's hair. Web stuck to her gloved hand. Something tried to bite her through it.

_When you hide, remember one important rule: you have nothing to lose but your life. If they catch you, you will die. If you risk your life to escape, you might _not_ die._

Finally, the passage opened up and Sam stumbled onto web as hard as iron. "Just a little further," she said, yanking the exhausted child after her, and shaking a spider the size of a dinner plate from her hand. Blood trickled down Sam's face. "Come on, just a little further."

A drake called out behind them, but the walls and echoes distorted the words.

She could hide her scent here, with the spell Nalice had taught her, but it wouldn't help Saya or Jettion, who struggled through the passage behind them.

_If you can help it, don't slow down until you know they cannot catch up._

At the sound of gurgling water, Sam changed her direction immediately. Her eyes had adjusted, better picking out the gentle glow of mushrooms and lichen on the cave walls. The black water swept over their boots and chilled their feet through the material. Sam hoisted Saya onto her back, and waded upstream. The ice burned her thighs.

_It doesn't matter how fast you run if they can follow. Water is dangerous because they know you'll head there immediately, but it's not as dangerous as leaving a scent trail._

She heard splashing behind her, and panting.

In time, the sound of the drakes grew quieter and quieter with distance, but Sam kept going. It wasn't until long after the sound had died completely that she struggled to the bank of the underground river. Jet, in the form of a one-eyed human adult, staggered to the bank beside her and threw down Sam's pack. Sam kicked off her sodden pants and pulled a blanket to cover her wet legs with. Jet shifted, and the little wet whelp curled up on her lap, shivering. Saya collapsed against Sam's side.

_Remember that, and stay safe. Come, Samantha. I'll help you get familiar with the mountains, should the worst happen._

"Where are we?" Saya mumbled.

Samia grinned. "I have _no_ idea."

-o-O-o-

Onyxia lay unmoving at their feet.

"Are you certain she's alive?" asked Lirastrasza. "Well, undead."

"Yes," said Eduard beside her. Or perhaps it was the Steward, it was hard to tell with a single word. "I can feel her energy, it's a small spark in comparison to the bonfire it is when she's awake. She has enough energy to stay in her body, but not enough to be aware. She's essentially unconscious."

Stormwind accent, informal manner of speaking, talk of necromancy — that was the Steward alright.

"Where's Indigosa gone?" asked Lira.

"Chasing after Samia Inkling." Fordragon's Avatar knelt beside Onyxia's head. "What happened to her eye?"

Lira stooped on the stone floor and scooped up a glowing purple crystal with one hand. The Avatar took it from her, cradling it in his palm, looking down at it thoughtfully.

Lira touched her face. Blood beaded in the wound Onyxia's nasty claws had given her. They'd been raked straight across her face.

She'd seen broodmothers enrage before; it was never pretty for the other person. Lira gazed around the room, taking in Onyxia's glowing body as it shrunk to the size of a mortal at the Avatar's touch. Dead drakes littered the room, clawed and gored to death. Purple flame still stuck to the walls and ceiling, and other flames burnt the bodies to ash. Lira's feet stuck to the stone with blood.

"Indigosa shouldn't have gone after Samia," said Lira, turning back to Fordragon's Avatar, who held Onyxia's human form in his arms, staring at her ruined face. "She should have gone after Nalice. Thanks to that poor judgement, we've lost her _again_! She was laying, we should have killed her!"

"Your drakes would have overwhelmed her if not for the fact they went to assist those fighting Onyxia." The Avatar took in the bodies surrounding them. So many Reds... "She's powerful, even in death." He looked up at Lira. "Saya's wellbeing is more important to me than killing Nalice. If Nalice dies, we win; if Saya dies, it would… be a great loss." The Avatar took a deep breath.

The anger inside Lira died. "Fair enough," she said.

Fordragon's Avatar gave her a hard look. "You thought I was protecting them."

"You've gone soft, Steward." Lira unstuck one foot from the ground. Her kin's blood stained her elegant boots. Dimly, some part of her noted she'd never be able to wash it out. She'd expected the death of any of her drakes to scar her, but…

She felt _fine_.

_Of course I do. I'm probably in shock._

"Do you think for one moment I'd forgive them for what they've done?" said the Steward. "I saw what they did, first hand. Onyxia manipulated me for _months_, and her magic tainted me to the extent I thought I had gone _insane_. Do you have any idea how terrifying that was? I would never help them."

"Forgive me," said Lira.

"You're paranoid," said the Avatar.

Lira bit back her anger. _Not paranoid. Prepared._

The Avatar gazed down at the human Onyxia. Purple rivulets, like molten crystal, ran down her pallid face from her eyes. "I forgot..."

"Forgot what?"

"How... jarring it would be," said the Avatar. "I haven't seen Katrana Prestor in five years. I've seen through her eyes, but not... not like this." He shook his head. "I can trigger the magic in her to contract into this form, but I can't choose which it takes."

"The drakes should find Inkling," said Lira. Still, the embers of frustration glowed inside her. _Nalice!_ They should have found _Nalice_! Forget the Blackblood brat, she could die as far as Lira was concerned, Nalice should have been dead months ago and once again they had failed!

"I don't feel any magical residue within her," said the Avatar. "Never have. But your mother will be able to tell better than I can. If she's hiding things from me, she may have knowledge of Deathwing after all... but I doubt it."

"Kill her, then."

"And anger your mother? By the Light, no."

Lira picked her way through the bodies and down the stairs. So many dead. Their faces blurred together in front of her eyes, their scales now dull and lifeless. She thought she'd seen… "We have to ensure she _hasn't_ hidden anything from you before we kill her. She could have valuable information."

"I'm certain she — "

"That was a trick, Steward," said Lira. "We underestimated her once, look where it's got us." She swept her gaze around the room and the dead drakes, and the Avatar fell silent. "If we knew she would fight as fiercely as she did…"

And then, Lira found what she was looking for. She pulled an egg from a pile of dead grass. The rest of it, scattered around the room, threatened to stick to her boots as she walked. "She flew away in the middle of laying eggs, how did she do that?" She nudged another with her foot. The spikes stopped it from rolling far.

"Sabellian stopped the process, somehow," said Bolvar. "What does being eggbound mean?"

"It means she can't lay." Lira winced "Physically can't lay. We may be lucky, if they don't find a new safe place within the week being eggbound will kill her just fine."

"How does that work?"

Lira placed the egg with its siblings and picked her way through them. How many were there, here? Six, seven... "It's the equivalent of dying in childbirth. When the eggs are ready to lay they shift into a position where they put pressure on your insides. Usually they're laid on time to avoid problems, but when you're eggbound, the damage will kill you eventually." She smiled. "So they would be saving us the trouble!"

"Ouch," said the Steward. Then, "Aren't you worried about those eggs hatching?"

"What triggers Blackwhelplings to hatch near intruders is fear." Lira shook her head. "Mercenaries going through a clutch of eggs feel nervous, and so the eggs hatch and feed upon the first non-dragon thing that seemed threatening. I'm not afraid. I know better than to be. When the drakes fought Onyxia, they weren't close enough to make the eggs hatch..." She paused. "Do you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"Shh."

Something caught Lira's attention. She paused, listening to the air, and...

Power.

Every dragon egg had power of its own, of course. It was a gentle, thrumming thing. The Red Dragonflight, as the dragons of life, could tell the difference between a dead egg and a live one by the life force within each.

Some life forces had more power than others, not because they were healthier, but because of magic. It was like the power she'd sensed in the Heir's egg...

But these weren't Nyxondra's children. They were the children of Nalice, a talentless whelp who stood in the shadows of her parents. Two parents, both with inherent magical power, neither of which had deigned to pass it on to Nalice.

But then, sometimes it skipped a generation, didn't it?

The egg in question lay undisturbed among its brothers and sisters, covered with a black sheen, but pure power emanated from it. Was it Maleficent's power it had inherited, or Sabellian's? Or was it both combined? "Do you know what you've left behind, Nalice?" Lira murmured as she took the egg into her arms. "Do you know what you could have mothered?"

_That power. Imagine if Deathwing got his claws on this. Imagine if he raised it, accelerated its age like he does the Twilights, taught it…_

"But he won't," Lira murmured, stroking the dark shell. "He's going to destroy it himself. He won't know the difference between it and the real egg, the magical signature is so similar…"

"What are you doing?" said the Steward, looking to her. "That's one of Nalice's eggs, isn't it?"

"Yes." Lira smirked. "And it will be perfect for what I have in mind."

-o-O-o-

The caverns were lighter, here. Sam had long put Saya to bed in the dim light, leaving the Blackblood curled up on her bedroll, and sat by the edge of the stream. Jet, who'd taken the form of a girl a year or two older than Saya, hugged his knees beside her with an arm, yanking mushrooms up by the roots with the other.

His wide eyes watched as Sam focused. She held her hands in the air, willing the earth to speak to her. Sabel had sat down with her so many times, taught her exactly what to do... _Reach out,_ he said. _Reach out, and it will listen. You are dragonspawn now, no longer human, and Black dragonkin can hear the spirits of the elements far better than a human ever could._

On Draenor, she could do it. On Draenor, the tiniest elemental spirits could be coaxed from the earth, given enough time and patience, and their inquisitive little minds would nudge and butt at her like children. It had taken months of effort after her Ascension, too long. Most shaman could speak to the elements within weeks of trying, but not Sam, no matter how hard she and Sabel tried. The first elemental curious enough to investigate had overjoyed her.

Now, they raged around her, oblivious, fighting off the patches of corruption that occasionally drifted so close to Samia she held her breath as they passed her by, whispering and hissing. The elemental spirits thundered like the hooves of a herd of panicking horses. They spread underneath Zul'Drak, her consciousness unable to stretch any further. The largest ones seemed to gravitate north, blinking away from her sight — was it Sabellian they were following? — but even the smallest ones failed to notice her. Her voice went from requesting to pleading to harassing, but they didn't even blink. Their stress made the hair on the back of her arms stand up, made her heart tighten and vibrate in her chest, made it hard to breathe —

She jerked away, gasping.

"You could do it on Outland." Jet blinked at her owlishly. "Sabel said you have to be patient. You have to be detached." He scowled. "Only new shaman are stupid enough to let the elements affect them like that, and you've been studying for two years! You could barely breathe."

Sam slowed her breathing and pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. "They're not listening. The Azerothian ones don't listen to me at all, and even on Draenor I can only get the attention of the smallest ones. How are we going to get a message to Sabel without them?"

Jet's form pouted as he continued to stare at her.

"He knows these caverns," Sam murmured. "So do they. Even if they would not show me out, he could ask one to."

"But they're not listening to you."

"They're..." She shook her head. "Some of them are furious. Most are fearful. They're panicking and won't listen, and the stronger ones... I don't have the power to get their attention, I may as well be an ant to them."

But even ants could be felt if one crawled up your leg. The spirits didn't even _notice_ Samia.

"I've been trying for hours, Jet," said Sam.

They sat there in silence. The gurgling of the water in front of them echoed off the walls. The coarse silver sand dug into the palm of Sam's hand from where she'd been gripping it in her attempt to contact a spirit. She let it trickle through her fingers. Jet peeled the umbrella off a brown mushroom the size of her head.

Downstream and far away, a voice echoed.

"Is that Sabel?" Sam craned her neck over the hill. She dropped the shield she'd used to protect herself as she'd reached out to the elementals, useless now. Far away, magma boiled, its orange light illuminating the deeper cavern below. "That can't be the drakes, they wouldn't announce their presence, and Faceless Ones don't exactly speak…"

Although she could feel them. Where the most stressed elementals clustered, she'd felt the taint of the Faceless Ones…

It scared her. It had scared Sabel when they'd first come to Azeroth, and had seen how she'd suddenly become brusque, stubborn and short at times…

She was Black dragonkin now.

_She could hear them_.

One of the first things Sabel had done as they'd sat in the shadow of Blackrock was teach her how to hide herself with a shield. "You don't want the Old Gods' minions gravitating towards you when you contact the elements," he'd said. "_Keep yourself safe_, Samantha. The Old Gods won't bother with a mere dragonspawn, but that doesn't mean you're out of the woods."

"Samia Inkling," called out a familiar voice.

Down the river, Samia could make out a dim silhouette of a woman. "Oh, Titans," she groaned. She raised her voice. "How did you find me?"

"The Steward knows these passages well," called up Indigosa. The undead woman clambered closer, and as she did Samia caught a small smile. The spray of the river created a sheen on her skin. "The drakes would not wish to get lost down here, but I know these passages well thanks to the knowledge the Steward gave me and the others long ago, and you would not wish to get lost either. You would stick to the one landmark you knew — the river." Her smile grew. "And you would not go downstream for fear of pitching over a waterfall. Finding you was easy."

"We've got no fight with you," said Sam. "It's just me, Saya and Jet here." she nodded to Jet, who shifted back to the form of a whelp under her gaze, growling at Indigosa. "Don't hurt them."

"I am not here to hurt you." Indigosa dusted down the front of her mangy dress, looking to the child curled up on the bedroll. "Nor the little ones. In fact, my offer still stands, Samia Inkling. You have seen what could happen if you do not take it."

"I can't risk it," said Sam. "I can't trust you."

"You do not know your way around here." The glowing blue orbs of Indigosa's eyes sought out hers again. "Sooner or later you will starve before you find the surface. Would you rather face certain death... or uncertain death?"

"You want to harm — "

"No." Indi raised her hands, palms out. "But I know the mind of one who thinks me an enemy. You think I will. I know where we are, Samia Inkling, I know where we must go to reach the surface. You cannot fight alone. There is nowhere left on Northrend where Nalice could lay before the egg binding will kill her. Nowhere except the deep places of the earth, the places _I_ know, and with me as double agent I can hide Onyxia from the Steward's eyes as well."

"Onyxia trusted me to guard Saya."

"But did she trust you not to starve her?"

Samia looked towards the sleeping girl. "I can't risk..."

"Again, Samia Inkling," said Indigosa. "Will you die, or take a chance on survival? You are not merely dragonspawn, you are _Sabellian's_ dragonspawn. As the only dragonspawn in the Obsidian Dawn, you will become Flametongue or Scalebane one day — a leader of the dragonspawn." Indigosa continued to stand in the water, seemingly oblivious to the current. "A leader learns to take initiative, to question orders. You have been trained not to question your Flight's orders, but in these troublesome times mindlessly obeying your superiors could result in death."

"Last time I took the initiative — " Samia sucked in a breath. "I didn't obey them and people _died_. I spared Reginald Windsor and everyone died."

"You did the world a favour," said Indigosa.

"What?" Samia snapped upright. "By letting Onyxia die? Letting _everyone_ die?"

"You wiped out most of Deathwing's army before he could get it," said Indigosa. "Do you honestly believe Blackrock would have been on Onyxia's side?"

"That doesn't mean…"

"Sometimes, good things can come out of the dreadful," said Indigosa. "Listen to your intuition, Samia Inkling. Come with me. We are both enemies of Deathwing, are we not? Else Nalice would not be hiding from him."

"If Deathwing caught Nalice he'd turn her eggs into Twilights," Samia murmured.

"You are the guardian of two of the things most precious to Onyxia. Would you let them down and refuse my offer?"

"You dragons are all so bloody melodramatic. Where are the others? Are they alright?" _Can I trust you to tell me the truth?_

"Onyxia is captured," said Indigosa. "But she will not be for long. The Ambassador has been convinced, he is now on the side of me, Eduard, and the Obsidian Dawn. The Ambassador and Eduard will ensure she gets out of Wyrmrest Temple safely. They will extend the same offer I make to you, to Onyxia. She will lead you to the safe place I have in mind."

"And we'll be safe?" said Samia. "You guarantee Nalice will be safe? Is she even — "

"Nalice escaped," said Indigosa. "I came after you, not her. Serinar defends her." Her brow creased. "I do not know where Sabellian is, he vanished."

Samia couldn't help it; she laughed again. "That would be just like him!"

"Indeed." Indigosa smiled. "You will meet them again. I will find them once I have led you to the surface, and I will take them to you."

Her words made Samia's heart feel heavy. "There's a problem."

"What is that?" said Indigosa.

"The Steward can see through Onyxia's eyes," said Samia. "When she's with us, we're not safe."

Indigosa shook her head. "You will be," she said. "You understand... Eduard's body is named the Avatar for how easy it is for him to channel the Steward. He was the same with Arthas, and he spent years fighting before he was finally able to shake off his influence over sheer force of will. It was months after that before he learned to block Arthas out altogether. Eduard's power extends over the rest of us; the Steward cannot see through any of us without our permission." Indigosa smiled sadly. "He does not take issue with it, he believes it is a genuine error with the link, but he respects our privacy enough not to fix it, which is fortunate for us. Eduard will extend his mental protection to Onyxia, and the Steward would not be able to find her."

"I... see," said Samia. "But you understand that Nalice and Serinar won't listen to you? Sabellian might... well, I doubt it, he hasn't lived for thousands of years for nothing, but... they won't listen, Indigosa."

"They will," said Indigosa. She gave another smile. "Like you, they have no choice."

-o-O-o-

The egg sat on the cushion in the middle of the chamber. The wind rushed through the pillars that held up the roof, so fast that Lira half hoped it would tip the egg over the edge of the temple to shatter on the ground below.

The Heir of Earth. The Black Prince or Princess. Purified, whole, full of potential. Before Chromie had disappeared to fight the Infinite on the time streams, Lira had heard, she'd called it the "Black Messiah."

So many titles, and it hadn't even hatched yet.

"Here it is, Lira," said Alexstrasza, sweeping her arm to gesture to the egg. "What's your plan?"

Lira knelt to place the decoy beside the Heir of Earth. The patterns of spikes on both eggs looked similar, but distinct enough that she could tell them apart. Of course they were; the pattern of the spikes differed with every single egg thanks to genetics and the Black Dragonflight were a bunch of inbred, near-extinct fools. "Feel that power," said Lira. "That's Nalice's egg."

"I can feel it," Alexstrasza murmured. "If you did not know one was corrupted, you would barely know the difference."

"Exactly." Lirastrasza stood up. "That egg must have inherited its grandparents' powers on Nalice's side. It's the perfect decoy."

"Go on."

"We don't know when Nozdormu will return," said Lira. "We don't know when we'll be able to see the Bronze Dragonflight again, or if their future selves will even survive their altercation with the Infinites. Your plan was to send the Heir of Earth to Corastrasza to hide among the eggs and Broodmothers there, but the moment Deathwing discovers the egg is with her, the Vermillion Redoubt would be attacked, and it would be harder to defend than Wyrmrest Temple. But they cannot stay here, either, and it would only take one slip up from the mercenary carrying the egg to have Deathwing on his or her tail, and this time, they might not survive."

Alexstrasza crossed her arms. Beside Lira, the Ambassador watched in interest. "I think," said Alexstrasza, "I know where you are going with this."

"Deathwing would not be able to tell the difference between these eggs," said Lirastrasza. "We must sacrifice the decoy. It has great power as the grandchild of Sabellian and Maleficent. We take two mercenaries, Your Majesty. We choose mercs of the same race and similar appearance, both exalted with the Wyrmrest Accord, and let them out into the world. We let them both think they have the real egg, and leak the name of the one with the fake egg to the Twilight's Hammer cult. Deathwing catches the decoy, destroys it, and then has no idea that the real Heir of Earth is out there, alive and well."

"And then, when the Bronzes return, they can hide the Heir until he or she hatches," said Alextrasza.

"Wait," said the Ambassador. "We're not only sending an unwitting mercenary to certain death, but a _child_?"

"Better to sacrifice one for the good of many," said Lirastrasza.

"This is war, Ambassador," said Alexstrasza. "The Heir of Earth is too important to allow to die, and must survive _at all costs_. The Heir of Earth is a future Aspect, and their death would be a blow as great as mine, Kalec's or Ysera's would be. We cannot afford to allow the Heir to die, we will need an Aspect of Earth at the end of all of this." She lifted her chin. "For too long, the Aspects have been shattered. Ysera was with her nightmare, Malygos had retreated, Deathwing had been gone and Nozdormu fought the Infinite Dragonflight. _No more_. We must rebuild."

"Not to mention," said Lirastrasza. "A mercenary who willingly takes the real egg knows they will likely die, anyway! They'd be sacrificing their lives for the same thing."

The Ambassador frowned, crossing his arms.

"With your approval, Dragonqueen," said Lirastrasza, "I will find some mortals in our ranks to take the eggs immediately."

Alextrasza nodded. "Do it. They can set out as soon as possible."

"Who will you choose?" said the Ambassador.

Lira opened her mouth, but Alexstrasza cut across her. "I think, Ambassador, the less people who know, the better. Understand, if the Steward has knowledge of the eggs if he should ever fall to the Old Gods, it would end in disaster."

The Ambassador nodded. "As you wish, Dragonqueen."

Lira nodded. Then said, "Mother, when do you intend to interview our guest? I checked on her, she's still under."

"The Steward is guarding her personally," said the Ambassador. "There is no need to check on her. Even the drakonids are overkill with him there."

Alexstrasza frowned. "Not until the eggs have gone," she said. "I'd rather she did not catch wind of this."

-o-O-o-

At the foot of Wyrmrest, a golden portal shimmered in the air.

"Told you I could get in," said Neverus. "We're not _Bronzes_, we're more powerful than they are."

"Be quiet," murmured Chroma. The blizzard froze around them, snowflakes hanging in the air unmoving, as Chroma struggled onto the platform at the base of the temple. "When are we? The quicker we're out, the better."

"Stop being so paranoid, Chroma."

"I don't want to — "

"Shush," said Neverus. "I just need you to make sure I'm doing this right, I'm only a drake! When are we?"

Chroma tilted her head, listening to the thrum of time. "Not bad," she said, after a pause. "We're only a little early."

"Wait, or try another transport?"

"Wait," said Chroma. "The Bronzes might find our magic and use it to anchor themselves here, and they can't come yet or everything will collapse. Now, let's see how good you are at restarting time."

-o-O-o-

She dreamed.

She dreamed of tentacles, of taint, and corruption. She dreamed of hordes of undead marching across the snowy plains, devouring everything in their path, as a wild wind raged around them. She dreamed of a warrior on the battlefield, constantly fighting, dying, but before Onyxia could get close enough to see who he was the blizzard grew in intensity and obscured him.

Tentacles split from the earth. The dream turned a deep, sickly purple with taint as it dyed her skin, her body. A constant track of whispers and hissing ran in the back of her mind, saying words she couldn't catch, every one of them malicious. The tentacles ran underneath the earth like pipes, poisoning everything.

Except —

Not quite everything. Above her, in Wyrmrest, there was a beacon of brilliant, shining light —

A shroud descended on her, and the light faded away. The whispers bled into the background, sewn into her being.

A voice said, "Lady?"

Far away, something massive fell to sleep.

"Lady," said the voice.

... But it wasn't so massive, only in power. It was human. At least, as close to human as it could —

"Lady!" said the voice. "Please, lady. We do not have that much time. And please do not prod the Steward, I do not want him to wake!"

Onyxia's eye opened.

She lay on a bench in a cell. She recognised the pale architecture of Wyrmrest surrounding her, with its pillars and high ceiling. She blinked, waving her hand in front of the eye on her left, but she saw nothing.

"Are you looking for this, lady?" the undead in front of her held out a purple crystal.

Onyxia took it, shoving it into her eye socket. Her vision came back, distorted, and gradually sharpened. "You," she hissed at the undead. "What do you — "

"Make no mistake, lady!" The undead threw up his hands. "I am Eduard Von Andorhal, not the Steward. The Steward is... Well. You saw him."

Only then did her vision focus enough to see the two dead drakonid, their red skin marred by plague, laying on the ground in front of her cell. The undead stood in the open door. "Did you take them down by yourself?" asked Onyxia.

Eduard nodded. "I have a lot of power in my own right, thanks to the Steward. But we have not much time."

"What do you want?" Onyxia sat up, rubbing the side of her head. "I just want to be with the Dawn, nothing more."

"I know, lady," Eduard crooned. "I know. I come to you with an offer. You may notice your mind is now safe from the Steward's prying eyes. I... fed his power back to him, looped his magic back to him."

"What?"

"A long time ago he gave me access to his power so I could help him with... certain things," said Eduard. "I am capable of pulling the wool over his eyes, so to speak, but we will soon have to wake him again. Azeroth is not safe for long otherwise." Eduard looked at her imploringly. "The Steward needs your help, Onyxia."

Rather than immediately denounce it, Onyxia said, "And helping him will get me out of this cell, I suppose."

Eduard nodded. "We must help him in a way he is unwitting of," he said. "He is too angry to ask his enemies for help, but, Onyxia... he is dying."

"Dying."

"He is not undead as you may assume," said Eduard. "He is alive, but he cannot feed himself or take care of his body. The only thing sustaining him is the magic that is steadily corrupting him. He only needs cut himself off for a few moments before his body, and he, will die."

"Let him die."

"The Old Gods speak to him," said Eduard. "They speak to your Flight and the Obsidian Dawn. And I know how to stop them."

Onyxia perked.

"Well," said Eduard. "We know the first part of it... Indigosa, the Ambassador — who has no name, by the way — and I, we have watched the Steward fight and he weakens. One day, he will lose. When he loses, the Old Gods will have complete access to his power. And you know how great that power is."

Oh. "I... see."

"And so we find it in mutual benefit to help one another," said Eduard. "We work to help the Steward, but he would not accept your help. You could help us. The Obsidian Dawn can help us. And in saving the Steward from the clutches of the Old Gods, we can save you all too. And if we succeed enough... perhaps your kind can stop being hunted."

"Why don't you get the Wyrmrest Accord to help you?" Onyxia raised an eyebrow.

"The Wyrmrest Accord are not interested in defeating the Old Gods," said Eduard, frowning. He looked boyish. "They are more interested in defeating Deathwing. The Ambassador has implored them, but they do not see how useless it is to defeat a puppet and let the puppeteer get away."

"It's dangerous to kill Old Gods," said Onyxia. "Kill them, and the entire world goes with them. All you can _do_ is damage control..." She rubbed her temple. "But a Bronze told me that the Wyrmrest Accord is their puppets, too. In the end, it's only a matter of dying slowly or quickly."

"We have suspected that, lady," Eduard murmured, lowering his eyes. "But something must be done, or we all die in the end, anyway. Will you help us?" He looked back to her. "Indigosa is rounding up your allies as we speak. We can deliver you to a place to hide, for all of you to hide, where Nalice can lay her eggs in safety. We will protect you. In exchange, we ask you to keep hidden, and to do something for us."

"What is this?" said Onyxia.

"I cannot tell you, not now," said Eduard. "I do not trust you yet, lady, not until you trust us. But it will be in your benefit to do so."

"I think I know what it is."

"You do?" Eduard looked up at her.

"Not exactly, no," said Onyxia. "But it is something you want Samia Inkling to do, isn't it? Not me. You wouldn't want me to do it."

Eduard perked. "How do you know, lady?"

"A little Bronze told me," said Onyxia. "In spite of the murder and massacres she's unleashed on my people, at least _one_ little spark of light remains. I don't suppose I have much choice, do I?"

"I would wish you to burn these bodies to a crisp before you go." Eduard looked down. "If the Wyrmrest Accord knows we have betrayed them, then we are useless to you." He held out a white cloak, which he'd been holding in his arms. "Take this. If I recall correctly, your brother said you will not be able to fly? This will camouflage you against the snow."

"I am not certain, but flying would be risky nonetheless." Onyxia took it from him. "Thank you. And, one last thing..." She looked down at the bodies at her feet. "Why stop the Old Gods from tainting the Steward if he's going to die anyway?"

"If they get access to his power — "

"I understand, but as far as I can see it, he becomes untainted, and then… he dies," said Onyxia. "What happens after?"

"We all live happily ever after, lady," said Eduard, expressionless.

"But that isn't all, is it?" said Onyxia. "If this isn't a trap, what do you intend for us to do once you have our debt to you held over our heads? Do you want us to be the one who kills him, or are you going to use his gratitude to us to convince _him_ to add us to his faction? You're not just manipulating us, are you? You're manipulating him too. We'll owe you, and he'll owe us both, and then what happens?"

Eduard said nothing. The teenager only stared at her.

"Well?" said Onyxia.

"Your kind are not a kind of honour," said Eduard. "Lady. No matter what you owe to us, you would not give it to us."

"Sabellian would, Samia might, and you _know_ it," said Onyxia. "But it's not just them, you want to make the Steward owe you, too. Why?"

"Run, lady." Eduard stepped back. "We will delay them as much as we can, but we will have to raise the alarm eventually to avoid suspicion, lady. You will know where to go… you must use every minute you can."

"You're not going to answer my questions, are you?"

Eduard shook his head.

Onyxia ran.

-o-O-o-

It was dark outside.

The white cloak helped her blend into the snow as Onyxia ran up the hill away from Wrymrest, the tall cliffs of ice surrounding her.

Something twinged inside her.

It told her to go west.

-o-O-o-

"This is goodbye, Heir of Earth," Lirastrasza murmured. "May we meet again under more favourable circumstances."

_Or_, she thought, _you could die. You would be doing us all a favour. We have Thrall, the mighty shaman, on our side. Why do we need a draconic Aspect of Earth? We've gone without for ten thousand years._

Why need Aspects at all, come to think of it? Most of them had been indisposed for a while.

The human mercenary in front of her held out his hands. Lirastrasza put the egg into his arms. "Guard it with your life," said Lirastrasza. "You know where to go. Deathwing will not stop hunting it. You must avoid him at all costs, sacrifice your life if necessary. If Deathwing gets a hold of this egg..."

"I understand." The human man looked at her grimly. "It won't happen. I'll make sure of it. I'll take the boat to Menethil."

"Good," said Lirastrasza. "I want you gone by first light tomorrow, no later. You may stay in the meantime to finish stocking up on supplies."

The mercenary bowed, headed back to his chambers, the egg safe in his arms.

A familiar scent reached Lira's nostrils. As she looked around the deserted hallway, she thought she heard the familiar steps of the Ambassador fading away.

Had he heard what the mercenary said?

-o-O-o-

Time stopped again.

"Shall we?" said Chroma.

The mercenary, exalted with the Wyrmrest Accord, had quarters all to himself. The door, silenced by the stopping of time, didn't creak as Neverus pushed it open ahead of Chroma. His elvish ears jutted out of his head as he stepped inside.

"There," he said.

The egg lay on the pillows of the merc's bed. The merc was halfway through packing, his satchel frozen in his hands.

"Nev," said Chroma.

Neverus stopped, his hands hovering in front of the egg.

"Make note of its position," said Chroma. "You want it to be as similar as possible. The merc may notice the changed layout of the spikes, but let's not take any other changes nonetheless."

Neverus nodded, and plucked the egg from the bed. "Where to?" he said.

A golden portal shimmered.

On the other side, the two Infinites ended up in Dalaran. A bird hung in mid-flight above them, an insect only an inch from its beak. The pink streets were dead quiet, but crammed full with people.

Neverus stumbled and tipped over a gnome. "Oops," he said, looking down to the short-haired girl. "She's going to get a nasty shock when time starts again."

He stood up. The air tore like paper, revealing nothing but darkness,

Neverus stared at it. He walked to the other side of it, but the darkness stayed the same shape. "It's two dimensional?" he said, walking from side to side. "What _is_ that?"

"The very fabric of the universe is tearing," said Chroma. "Did you think we meant metaphorically? It's fragile for us to navigate through. In the mother universe, the Bronze were unable to access the timeline _anyway_, but here it's especially important that they don't. The presence of any time agents makes it easier to break, until we put the eggs in their place."

"What _is_ it?"

"Beyond the tear?" said Chroma. "That's what we call the Infinite, what we named our Flight after. Where the Great Dark Beyond ends, the Nether begins, and where the Nether ends and everything becomes nothing but emptiness, devoid of stars, demons, Titans and _everything_, stretching into the void without an end… that's the Infinite. When the mother universe was created by the Titans, the Infinite exploded. When this universe will end, the Infinite will cave in on itself." Chroma smiled sadly. "Even when we are not here, when the Heir of Earth dies, so will this universe."

"Oh."

"We must hurry," said Chroma. "You know where to go."

Neverus nodded. Clasping the spiked egg in his arms, he led the way up a flight of cream-coloured steps into the Legerdemian Lounge. The air tore as they passed. Up another flight of stairs, through a locked door with the aid of a little magic…

"There," said Chroma.

The other egg lay on top of a bulging pack at the foot of a bed. A mercenary, with the same dark hair and skin as the other, lay sleeping above. He was fully dressed except for his kicked-off boots, with his feet on the pillow instead of his head. He lay on his stomach, his head on the crook of his elbow, his other arm dangling from the bed to caress the top of the egg.

Neverus switched them. The other egg he brought into his arms, leaving the first behind.

The portal back to Wyrmrest tore another hole in the Infinite. A bigger one, this time. Neverus shivered as he placed the egg on the pillow where the first one had been.

The Infinite faded away as the tear mended itself. Chroma felt the universe solidify.

Strange. Alternate timelines usually felt flimsy, but then… this wasn't an alternate timeline, wasn't it? It was so much stronger, just as strong as the main timeline in the mother universe had been.

"Which egg was which?" said Neverus. "I couldn't tell."

"You can," said Chroma. "Reach out. Examine them. The one that seems abnormal? That's it. It has a temporal error about it, one which will be fixed, in time."

"I can feel it," Neverus murmured, his eyes closed. "Good luck, our future Aspect."

"He is going to need it," said Chroma.

* * *

_**A/N: **Finally all caught up. Pardon me as I keel over in exhaustion. _

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Back to review replies, yay._

_**JustMe:** Thanks again for all your feedback! I'll edit the fourth interlude before the next update goes up, sometime this week, so that the time shenanigans are less confusing._

_**Zeitlos:** Sometimes I really worry what I'll do if something happens and I can't update this fic for a while. DDD: I've poured so much into it._

_**Hatman:** Although becoming dragonspawn would open up opportunities for power (much like how becoming dragonspawn would have enabled Samia to train as a shaman under Sabellian, but wouldn't have been able to as a human), it doesn't come with any inherent power._

_Often in fiction, if a character is disabled, they have some other power to "make up for it" - like blind seers. In the real world, disabilities don't work that way. Saya was born with the blood of dragons running through mortal veins and severely hampering her life, and even if she was saved from the Old Gods, she'd still have the Bronzeblood heritage to deal with._

_**Goth:** I put in a lot of little details that aren't meant to be caught until the story's reread and the reader already has knowledge of future events. I really love Fridge Logic. I'm working on my description; I hope this chapter is better for it, and I'll continue to work on it. It's often something I've neglected, I realise._

_**Skarlette:** I love cliffhangers, bahaha. Thank you!  
_


	49. The Unborn

_**A/N:**__ I promised a couple of people that the pacing would slow down around here back what we're used to, however I'm sorry — going to have to break it. This chapter was originally much longer but due to reasons I'll expand upon at the bottom, the slower-paced part had to be cut out. This is the shortest non-interlude chapter for a while, and there won't be an update next week._

_Thank you to **Coincidencless** and **Diloph** for being my betas!_

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

Time restarted.

The eggs seemed to spontaneously teleport as they switched positions, making Nalice's egg and the Heir of Earth's egg jolt with movement. The sleeping mercenary in Dalaran awoke as the egg at his fingertips seemed to shuffle.

He peered down at it, but it didn't move again. He must have been imagining things. Wyrmrest had told him it wouldn't hatch unless he was in danger…

He fell back to sleep.

Inside their shells, both eggs flared to life.

One was confused.

The other was annoyed.

The jostling discomforted both. However strong eggshells were, however much eggs could be battered and dropped without harming the whelp inside, the disturbance that took place in the space between one nano second and the next still made their scales ache.

The annoyed whelp puzzled over the new emotion. He'd never felt annoyed before before. He'd felt impatience, and the eternal darkness as voices washed over his shell. As he thought, the impatience started up again and he stretched, butting against his shell and —

No.

Patience.

He had to have patience.

Things had to be organised first. He wouldn't be in here forever, couldn't be. He could reach through the links that bound him to everything outside. He could listen to thoughts. He sought out his kind, and found them, clustering together in a frozen wasteland.

One took up his attention immediately, her pain and anguish spiking through his awareness. She feigned boredom, covering the agony so convincingly the whelp stopped and pondered. Perhaps he could call out to her?

… No. She'd only want to use him, too, just like the Reds. He'd heard their intentions.

He would be free of them all.

Instead, he listened to the song of mortals. Listened to them through the earth once again, heard their intents, good and bad. Like a dream, he heard their voices and learned what they were saying as they made gestures, saw them pick up objects and name them with different languages, saw them hurt one another, train one another... He learned what an apple was, in multiple languages. He learned how to fight. He learned how to speak.

The whelp stirred.

Names. Even the mortals all had names. Labels affixed to every body.

What would his name be?

-o-O-o

_You will know where to go_, Eduard had said.

The blizzard would have normally made finding the way hard, even for a dragon, but every time Onyxia thought herself lost, intuition-like knowledge urged her where to go. She felt compelled to follow certain landmarks, landmarks she'd never thought twice of before.

Memory guided her, but rather than visual memory it was _body_ memory. The body memory of... what? The Steward was powerful, and Eduard could use his power; was this the body memory of the Scourge that Eduard had fed into her mind? Memory that was accurate down to the last step, because the path had been walked so many times before? Because together, thousands of Scourge had mapped out every last stone of Northrend with their feet?

If Sabel and Samia hadn't told her the Lich King was dead, Onyxia would be worried. What exactly _was_ this Steward?

After a while she found the shelter of the trees; here, it would be very difficult to follow her from the air. She struggled through the building snow, not daring to scorch a path in front of her that would leave a trail as plain as the nose on her face.

Her frozen limbs cracked and snapped as she forced them to bend. Without body heat, the liquid in her body froze solid, making navigation difficult. No wonder the Forsaken stripped the flesh from their joints; with an elbow, shoulder or knee covered in flesh in Northrend or even parts of Lordaeron, moving was incredibly difficult. With every snap she felt the jagged edges of broken ice tearing her veins. She had to keep them moving; she made the mistake of leaving her left arm straight for too long and bending it again was excruciating. She longed to be in the warm underground once again.

There was a break in the trees ahead. The blizzard obscured what lay beyond.

The snow gave way ahead of her. A pit yawned ahead of her, but it was too late. She fell.

She slid down a steep cliff and came to a bumpy halt at the bottom. Snow piled on top of her like dirt in a grave. She pushed it aside, limbs snapping and cracking, and clawed her way out of it.

The rest of the Obsidian Dawn, in the pit with her, watched in a mixture of amusement and relief.

"How amusing," said Serinar. He stood in his human form beside a massive boulder covered in snow, many times his size, at the bottom of the cliff. Not far away, Sabellian perked his head up. At his knee crouched Samia, her cloak wrapped around herself and Saya, who dozed against her. Jettion sat on Sabellian's feet. Snowflakes whirled around the scene. "Nalice did the exact same thing. And then her great bulk caved in the passages below, which is why this is deeper than it should be."

The boulder moved and shook off the snow. Nalice's eyes opened at Onyxia through the fog, the only dragon present in her natural form. "If he says one more word, I will _eat_ _him_."

"Where is this?" said Onyxia.

"You're our psychic guide," said Serinar. "You tell _me_. Surely your supernatural knowledge can tell us?"

"Indigosa said you'd know the way," said Sabellian. "She found us. Samia, Jettion and Saya were with her. We had little choice but to follow her."

Onyxia stood up. The walls of the pit surrounded her, sheer and steep. "This is the Pit of Narjun, but… I don't remember it being as deep as this."

"Like I said," said Serinar. "My dearest consort collapsed the passages that were below us. I imagine if the Nerubian kingdom wasn't close to extinction, we'd have squashed some very surprised insects."

Nalice huddled in a hollow, her expression bored, but every subtle line of her body betrayed the pain she was in. Absently, Serinar stroked her snout. Nalice growled, and Serinar pulled his hand away as if nothing had happened.

"So Indigosa spoke the truth," said Sabel, not moving from Samia's side. "Eduard Von Andorhal released you."

"Yes." Just in time, Onyxia remembered to bend her limbs again before they refroze. She drew them tightly into the cloak around her, for what little good it would do without body warmth. "I am grateful you all escaped."

"Barely," said Nalice. "You served useful, Onyxia, in keeping them busy. My thanks for that. Now, please, I have better things to do than stand around talking. Like preventing my _death_. Where do we go from here? The frostwyrm said that some knowledge of the way to a place she described as safe was imparted to you."

Onyxia frowned. Nalice wasn't even voicing any suspicion. How desperate was she to blindly follow the frostwyrm's directions, just as Onyxia had followed Eduard's? It could be a trap.

But what choice did they have? The Reds would catch up eventually. They were alone, they had no allies, risks had to be taken.

She looked around the pit. Because of how deeply situated they were in the pit, thanks to the collapse, it looked unfamiliar even to Eduard's memory, but…

"West," she said. "There's a large tunnel to the... no, southwest, I think? It must be covered with snow and dirt, someone dig it out."

It was Sabel who shifted after stepping away from Samia, who bundled Saya onto Nalice's back. Onyxia watched them warily, but Nalice only closed her eyes, as if she didn't notice.

Worry tugged at her.

Onyxia brought her attention back to Sabel, who scraped at the walls. "To the right a bit more," she said, and after a moment Sabel's claws broke into space, uncovering an icy passage.

He snorted, stepping back. "We'll have to widen it as we go. It'll be too tight for Nalice, otherwise."

"That will leave a trail," said Sam.

"We'll have to risk it," said Onyxia. Jettion fluttered to her side. Was it the lighting, or was he missing an eye?

She brushed off the thought. There was no time. "Come," she said. "I will lead."

-o-O-o-

The sun rose, faded away into dusk, and then deep into a Northrend winter's night by the time Lirastrasza met with her drakes. "Still no sign of Nalice," said one drake. "Every now and then we pick up her scent in all kinds of odd places. We thought we detected Onyxia's brother to the north, but he vanished."

"We can't do this forever," said another drake. "The Dragonqueen wants some of us down in the Twilight Highlands, and it's a long flight."

After the meeting, Lirastrasza sought out the Ambassador. She found him in the quarters he usually spent time in, gazing out of the window, hands behind his back. There was nothing for him to stare at but whatever played in front of his mind's eye. With the unending blizzard that had only gotten worse, the pane looked completely white. "Is there any news from Indigosa?" she asked.

The Ambassador turned and shook his head. "She has been chasing them all day, and the Steward hasn't passed on any news. He's keeping Onyxia under, no doubt."

Lira frowned. "Perhaps I should check on her."

"If you wish it," said the Ambassador, "I could check in with the Steward. I didn't want to interrupt him but it's easier than going all the way down."

Lira leaned against the doorway. "We haven't heard from him in some time. How much of his concentration does it take to guard her?"

"Not too much," said the Ambassador. "Enough that I can speak to him."

The Ambassador closed his eyes. Suppressing a sigh of impatience, Lira shifted her weight to her other leg and crossed her arms.

"Oh no," said the Ambassador, quietly.

Lira straightened. "What?"

"The Steward's unconscious." The Ambassador's eyes flew open. "I think Onyxia's gone. I can't feel either of them!"

Lira swore. Turning on one heel she ran down the corridors of Wyrmrest Temple. "Drakes!" she said. "To me! _Now_!"

Not again, not again, _not again!_

As she ran, humanoids trickled into the hallway to follow her. The drum of their footsteps echoed in the hallways as Lirastrasza made it to the open air. The blizzard hit her like a punch to the face as the drakes hissed and shifted into their true forms behind her.

She flung herself off the edge of the temple. In midair her wings split from her back and her body grew until her claws slammed against the ground, digging into the snow. She rounded the temple to the north and dropped again, into the fissue that led deep into the temple.

She transformed once more into mortal form. As she passed through the empty sanctums she left footsteps in the ash that coated the ground, ran through the back passages, down some stairs, deeper, deeper, deeper…

The stairs ended and she stumbled into another massive room. The air stank of burnt flesh. On either side of a cell were two piles of ash on the ground.

The cell itself was empty.

Lira's mouth dropped open.

_How...?_

The Steward was the most powerful being on their side, second only to the Aspects. How could he have been knocked unconscious by an undead dragon? _He was the gods damned Lich King!_

The Ambassador's footsteps clattered to a stop behind her. She rounded on him. "How did this _happen?_"

The Ambassador stared at her with wide eyes. More footsteps down the stairs, and a few drakes appeared at the doorway. Lira sniffed the air, but all scent had been burned away.

"Drakes, out, circle the temple, _find her_!" she said. "This time, don't spare her, she's too dangerous to keep locked up."

Too dangerous. They'd underestimated her _again_, and now the world would pay dearly. As the drakes ran back up the stairs, Lira turned to the Ambassador again. "How did this happen?"

"I..." The Ambassador looked stricken. It took all of Lirastrasza's self control not to shake him, but the Ambassador did the job for her, tossing his head as if to clear it. "I don't know!"

"_Think_, imbecile!"

"I — I — " The Ambassador's eyes took in the empty cell, the ash. "Wasn't there a link between the Steward and Onyxia before she died? She made it, I think."

Lira's eyes narrowed.

"She must have found it," the Ambassador murmured. "Using it, she could have turned his magic on him and sent him to sleep. Then she would have been able to escape without assistance."

"Can you feel him?"

"No, Lirastrasza."

All the blood from Lira's face drained.

No. No, _no_. He couldn't be _dead_, this couldn't be the end already…

"She'll rendezvous with the others," she said, as she turned and ran up the stairs, two at a time. "They're acting strange for Black dragons, they're determined to stick together. They're desperate. That's why."

The Ambassador followed.

Her breath scorched her lungs and throat but she barely noticed as she made it back up to the sanctums, where she stumbled into the cold, Northrend air. As she stepped through more ash, she realised what had happened to the drakonids guarding the sanctums.

She bent to the ground. Here, in the gorge and away from the ash, she could pick up the scent. She'd have no choice but to go north unless she scaled the cliffs on either side. The Ambassador had mentioned earlier that she couldn't fly… _something's wrong with the necromantic energy in her_, he said, _but we never looked at it too closely._

But _they_ could.

Grinning like a hellion, Lira shifted once more and ran up the hill, her massive claws thundering against the earth. Down in the canyon the scent was easy to detect, but up at the top of the hill with the blizzard, it grew harder. Still, she'd find it…

She didn't notice Eduard's scent edging along the temple and trailing up the side of the gorge. She didn't notice where the ice had been gouged out at parts, as if by a climber's ice pick.

She expected Onyxia to go north for the cover of Crystalsong Forest, but to her surprise it turned west across the open plains. An attempt to throw her off? Perhaps; soon enough the trail became impossible to follow as the blizzard raged around her. The drakes that had heard Lira's earlier orders circled in the air above her as she shouted again over the winds; "Search west! We have to find her, no matter what!"

"Mind if I ride?" The Ambassador appeared beside her as a frostwyrm, before he quickly shifted back to his blue-haired form. He wasn't even panting, but of course he wouldn't. Bloody _undead_. "It'll be easier than following you in this blizzard."

"On my back, then." Lira only wasted a moment ducking her head; before the Ambassador was even half on she kicked off. The Ambassador scrambled to a safe place on her back as she rose into the air. Far too quickly, the blizzard and the ground became indistinguishable as Lira flew west.

The Shrine, perhaps? Or maybe the western forest?

Lira checked the shrine, the only place where the blizzard turned into rain, sizzling against the magma that flowed through. The Maw of Neltharion, where Serinar had collapsed it after he and Nalice first fled just after the Cataclysm, had turned into mud and slush. There was no way Onyxia could have dug through that and covered it up so well.

"How long since you last spoke to the Steward?" she called up as she took to the air once again.

She couldn't hear his reply over the wind.

Oh, _blast it_. How long had she been gone?

But Lira's heart rose as she crash landed in the trees of western Dragonblight. She couldn't fly above; Onyxia could hide too well here with the trees and the blizzard, but as Lira shifted back into human form, she could smell her. The Ambassador stumbling off her back with a yelp. The scratches she'd gained crashing through the gap between the trees grew with her form, but none bled too badly, only stinging against the fabric of her clothing.

Onyxia's scent was stuck to the dark trees, to the roots, and even dips in the earth not scoured clean by the blizzard. The icy wind blew it in Lira's face. Grinning again, Lira ran west.

Until she almost stumbled and fell down a cliff, right into the Pit of Narjun.

The edge of the cliff sloped into the gorge, which looked as if the Titans themselves had taken a chunk out of the earth. An iced-over river flowed into it.

And beneath, tunnels. Not just one, not even a few; this was the epicentre of Azjol'Nerub.

"They could go _anywhere_ from here," said the Ambassador's breathless voice. He pulled his fur cloak further over his shoulders; the enchanted heat emanated from him and touched Lira's skin through her clothing. Frost clung to his blue hair, which he covered with his hood. "And without the Steward we can't see a thing…"

"Find the drakes and retrieve them." Lira forgot that the Ambassador wasn't an inferior, that he was a diplomat. "I'm going in."

But the Ambassador didn't complain at the order. Instead, he shifted and took to the sky above the pit, narrowly missing the spiky branches of the trees and disappearing into the white blur above.

Lira pulled her gloves on tighter, and jumped in.

The Pit of Narjun was different than before; Lira couldn't remember it being so deep, but here a mixture of scents came to her nostrils. She took a moment to take in the air through her nostrils.

There. She separated the scents in her mind, standing in the snow, paying careful attention. The scent of a gravid wyrm, two male wyrms, two female dragonspawn, a whelp and...

Onyxia.

So they'd met here. They'd had another contingency plan; contingencies within contingencies. Only desperation would drive them underground; in the underworld, it would be very difficult for a dragon to eat in any form but a mortal's, and even then it was risky. She recognised the dragonspawns' scent from Drak'tharon, but…

No humans. No Saya. And yet, two dragonspawn?

… Gods. They'd _Ascended_ Saya.

As Lira followed the scent into a southwestern passage and downhill into Azjol'Nerub, long picked clean of Nerubians and treasure by mortals, she felt a pang. If Fordragon ever woke up and found out his daughter had been changed into dragonspawn...

The entire game would change, she reflected. But would Fordragon accept it as a loss, or only a setback? Would Varian Wrynn still accept his adopted daughter if she was dragonspawn, or would it be too much? The King had hated her as it was for the difficulties being Blackblood and Bronzeblood both gave her, hated her for her mother's crimes, but to be the _race_ of an enemy could be too much. And there was no way Fordragon could take care of his daughter, not in his state, not when he was so close to dying if he wasn't dead already...

_They did it on purpose,_ Lira realised. _They did it so that the humans wouldn't want her back._

She almost hesitated, there. Sabelia Fordragon was Black dragonkin, and therefore fair game. But would the Steward accept that? If Saya died in this war, would he turn on the Reds?

_He could be dead. There's no way to know._

After Onyxia's amulet had shattered, the Ambassador once told her, the backlash of knowledge had told Fordragon that Saya was Bronzeblood too. He'd still taken care of her, even though he hadn't conceived her. But this was different.

She brushed off the thoughts and continued. Down an icy-tunnel rendered wider by the claw-marks of dragons, through a Nerubian gate, over a thin, rail-less bridge that stretched across a massive web.

When she alighted on the web she heard the pounding footsteps of the drakes running after her across the bridge above, the Ambassador at their head.

"So this is where they went," he called down. The drakes clustered together in their human forms, clutching one another. "Where to, do you think?"

"Let's find out," said Lira, and kept going.

Their scents clung to the web like a fly to honey. Tiny spiders scuttled across. Lira shook one from her foot, before another buried itself in her hair. She yanked it loose and tossed it aside. From the way the scents were scattered, it seemed that Nalice was the only one in dragon form. The iron-hard webs had supported her weight easily. Lira continued down the passage as it twisted to the right. Webs threatened to weave the passage shut, but in their infancy it was easy to step between the gaps. Spiders the size of her abdomen watched, their eight eyes glittering like gems in the darkness.

The drakes followed her in silence.

At the end of the web they stopped.

A massive hole lay ahead of them all in the earth beneath. It had been dug at and made wider, Lira saw from the claw marks at the edge; wide enough that the dragons would have shifted to fly down. Lira listened carefully, but heard nothing except the distant rushing of water —

Water.

_Blast it! They can't have shaken us off _again_!_

Lira looked to the cluster of drakes behind her, hugging themselves and staring at her with wide eyes. "Come on," she snapped. "Don't act like such cowards."

She pitched herself into the abyss.

When she was clear of the hole, wings erupted from her back and stretched out to catch the air as she fell, slowing her descent. Above, she heard the drakes transform and fly through. Her wings contracted and disappeared as Lira fell into the icy water below. Bubbles erupted around her, and she clawed her way upwards through the freezing silence.

Her head broke the surface, her blonde hair sticking to her face as she crept out onto dirt. Here she saw footprints, but there was no wind to erase them, they might have been formed months ago if Lira didn't know better. Dead Nerubian eggs lined the path. Gritting her teeth and ignoring the urge to shiver, Lira strode forward; through another Nerubian gate, down some stairs, across a long webbed bridge onto a rounded platform —

Where the scent ended.

Water rushed below. A cone of light shone down on Lirastrasza from a hole in the ceiling above, from where snowflakes drifted down in refuge from the blizzard.

"They stopped here," she said as the Ambassador approached. He wiped his hand on his cloak, but the web sticking his fingers together refused to let go. She pointed as she talked. "They flew down into the water and went... where?"

The Ambassador opened his mouth, but by then Lira had thrown herself over the edge again and transformed. She shifted again at the bottom, back into mortal form once more. The river surged to her waist as she looked around, threatening to freeze her bones inside her legs.

Here, they could have gone anywhere.

The river tugged at her, surging through many passages, coming _from_ many passages, joining up and splitting again around rocks and islands of mushrooms. Lira clenched her teeth. She heard the distant shifting of magma to the northeast towards the Obsidian Dragonshrine, saw that one of the passages was completely dark (the drakes wouldn't go down _there_, the cowards), and numerous other passages. Some were too small for a gravid dragon to fit through and hadn't been widened or dug through, but there were plenty of bigger ones.

Lira waded around, sniffing the air, but although she picked up Nalice's scent sticking to an isolated rock in the middle of it all, it led nowhere. There was no trail. The water had washed it all away.

They were gone.

_Again._

"I am getting _sick of this!_" Lira shrieked. "This is the _third blasted time_ they have escaped!"

The Ambassador alighted on the rock Nalice's scent clung to, and transformed back into an undead. The spray of the rushing water soaked the ribbon in his hair. Blue strands stuck to his wet face. He blinked against the water, crouching next to the river to wash his hand free of web. "You can't tell where they've gone?"

"No," said Lira. "What about the Steward? Any trace of him?"

"None." Water trickled down the Ambassador's face, joining up at his jaw and dripping from his chin. He wiped his cheek with the back of his now-web-free hand. "We can't follow them here. You'll get lost, we'll _all_ get lost, because the Steward isn't here to direct us, and there's no telling when he'll come back to lead us out. It could be minutes, could be hours, could be days. Onyxia certainly did a number on him."

"Could he be _dead_?"

"Well — "

"You said you can't feel him!"

"I suppose it's a possibility…"

"This is dangerous," Lira snarled. "The Scourge might be mostly gone but they are still a _threat_, with every second he's unconscious the world's in more and more danger."

"Not necessarily," said the Ambassador. "There aren't enough Scourge by themselves to be a threat. The Old Gods and Ner'zhul can't use his powers or body as long as he's under."

"And are you sure he's merely _under_?" Lira turned to look at him. "You can't tell! How do you know he's only asleep and that the Old Gods _didn't_ take him over?"

"Onyxia escaped," said the Ambassador. "It must have been her — "

"Really?" said Lira. "And how do you know the Old Gods didn't possess him and wake her up? How do you know they didn't let her out whilst you were too busy thinking of yourself and your own life rather than doing your duty?" As she spoke, the Ambassador's eyes narrowed. "They are more powerful than the Steward is, they could have shielded Onyxia's motives from him all along, no matter what he claims. He's been weakening, after all, he could easily have missed it. How could I have been such a _fool?_ We have to act as if the Steward has been taken over, as if it's happened."

Only when her violently chattering teeth began to stutter her words did Lira realise how cold she was, how numb her legs had become. As she made her way to the rock, the Ambassador held out a hand and pulled her up onto it. The spray drenched them both. Lirastrasza hugged herself tightly. "We knew this would happen one day," she said, "it was only a matter of time. We have to alert Alexstrasza. You — " She looked up at the Ambassador. "What were your instructions for when this happened?"

The Ambassador said reluctantly, "We have to make sure he's beyond redemption before we act them out. The consequences if we're wrong could be disasterous — "

"Then _check_, damn it!" said Lirastrasza. "What are you doing down _here_?"

"I'll put Indigosa on it," said the Ambassador. "I'm certain I could locate her, Eduard's probably working right this moment to repair our connections." He looked up above them, to the platform from where the drakes watched. "For now, let's get you back into the warm before you freeze."

"This is worrying," Lira murmured. "They're being called underground. They're closest to the Old Gods here."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ There won't be an update next week._

_When I started this story, chapters were 4K words, the size of this chapter, however they've been getting longer and longer as the story progressed until they were 10K+ words. I can't keep up with chapters of this size, especially not without the story's quality suffering._

_TOD has been eating more and more time and consequently leaving me less time to get distanced before I have to start editing, which means the quality of each chapter is suffering. People have become more and more confused and I've become burnt out. I have other priorities that need tending to as well. Life before fanfic and all that._

_I love this story to _pieces_. It's the best thing I've ever done, I've learned so much writing it, and I'm grateful that even as I started flailing about struggling to keep up people still stuck with me. I kept to strict weekly updates because I was tired of not finishing anything. I was upset by how many great fanfics I've read, epic-length fanfics, which go unfinished, and I promised I'd never let TOD become that._

_And it won't._

_But for now, I need a break. I need to revise the past few chapters to clean up the errors I should have caught that I didn't, and make things much clearer and less confusing._

_Chapters from now on are going to be this length at the shortest, and around 8K at longest. If I have to space updates further apart from now on, I'll let you know, but aside from the missed update next week it's still weekly._

_At the end of the day, quality is more important than quantity of updates. So I'll see you then!_


	50. Light in the Tunnel

_**A/N:**__ Ho boy the burnout was worse than I thought. No guarantees as to when the next one will be up, but updates ought to be consistent within the next few chapters._

_**Warnings:**__ In this story dragons tend to get physical when they fight, including if they're mates/consorts, and with the Black Dragonflight it's even worse. Nalice and Serinar do not have a healthy relationship, and it may trigger some people. To stay on the safe side, __**this warning applies for all chapters from hereon out**__._

_Thanks to my betas **Diloph** and **Coincidencless**!_

_**ETA:** FF dot net keeps mushing up "Said" with the character name beside it. I have no idea why this is happening. I'm trying to fix it.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

As the Obsidian Dawn ducked under a waterfall and through a hallway made of ice, they stepped, shivering and wet, into a cavern. The ice walls glowed. Mushrooms lay scattered among the ground like rocks, their caps dusted with snow and ice. As Onyxia passed a stone altar, she saw a lake in the centre of the cavern.

Snowflakes floated through the air. She looked towards the ceiling and saw a hole in the ice and rock. A breeze blew through, the cold cutting her to the bone.

"Why are we stopping?" asked Serinar. "Is this the place?"

"Yes," said Onyxia. "I can feel it." She closed her eyes and fished for knowledge. "You need to look for a… western passage? Yes, to the west. Turn left as soon as it splits, and you'll find a cavern deep within filled with magma." She bent her elbows and wrists. It wasn't as cold down here. With the walls made of solid ice, how was it the lake was unfrozen?

"Then let's go," said Sabellian. "And I'll fix the eggbinding immediately."

Sam rescued Saya from Nalice's back. Nalice followed her father without a word, and Onyxia pretended not to notice the limp that betrayed the Broodmother's cramps. Sam hugged herself. Saya looked bored, barely giving the cavern another glance. Onyxia rose an eyebrow to see the impressed look on Serinar's face as he took in their surroundings.

_Welcome to Naz'anak,_ said Eduard's voice inside her head. _Once the home of Arthas's frozen heart, it now belongs to you. Even the Red Dragonflight don't know this place exists. It used to be populated by servants of the Old Gods, but the mercenaries disposed of them quite some time ago, and since Yogg-Saron's death they have not returned._

Onyxia scowled as Sam wandered around the cavern with Saya trotting after her. _First the Steward, now _you_ are eavesdropping?_

_Pardon me for startling you, lady, _said Eduard. _No, this is telepathy. I am not the Steward, I cannot hear what you do not tell me._

_And I should trust your word... why?_

_No reasons, I am afraid, milady._

Onyxia sighed. Still, Eduard's voice _felt_ less intrusive. _How is it you can speak to me?_

_As I demonstrated, I share the Steward's power, _said Eduard_. He is still asleep, and cannot hear us. Because he is asleep, the Old Gods cannot hear us..._

_Except through me, _said Onyxia_. _Eduard didn't answer. _Might the Old Gods tell the Steward?_

_Have they ever given you information?_ said Eduard.

Onyxia shook her head, before she remembered Eduard couldn't see her._ I can't say I ever recall having strange insights that came from nowhere… not until something led me here. But that was you, wasn't it? Planting information in my head?_

_Indeed it was._ Eduard seemed to brighten._ I do not think the Old Gods would tell Bolvar of your location; if they do, I will alert you immediately._ He seemed to droop, or, at least, that was the impression Onyxia got from the subtle emotion that resonated her way. _That is unfortunate. But then, whilst in Drak'tharon, it was not they who told the Steward where you were, and they could have simply kept an eye on the others and told him then, surely?_

_Indeed. _Onyxia frowned_. How _did_ he find out we were in Drak'tharon?_

_He could tell by the call of a bird and the direction from which the sun hit you whilst in the Grizzly Hills, _saidEduard_. He doesn't need you to be able to see to find you, lady, it only makes it easier._

_So I can't hide._

_You can, _he said_. Because you have me hiding your presence from him. You may as well be dead, as far as he knows. You have Indigosa, and even the Ambassador now, who's running damage control. We have a few days before we must wake the Steward, or the Red Dragonflight will start to panic. Thankfully, a few days are all we need._

_We've trusted you this far,_ said Onyxia. _Now it's time for you to tell us what you've been withholding._

_It's —_ Eduard paused, then said, _perhaps I should explain to you when everyone is around to listen, including Nalice. How long until she finishes laying?_

_It varies from dragon to dragon,_ said Onyxia. _Some can lay in no time at all, some take days. Judging by her age and size I'd say a couple of hours. Why not now?_

_I would rather not have to repeat myself,_ said Eduard. _For now, please settle in. Ideally, this will be your home for at least a year._

_Only a year?_ Compared to her time in Stormwind, that was nothing.

_If all goes according to plan, lady, _said Eduard_. If it were to be longer then it would be forever, because you have a window of opportunity you must catch. If Deathwing dies and you are not redeemed by then, you never will be, and you will always be hunted._

Eduard's words, so reminiscent of the warning Hora had given her a long time ago, made Onyxia shiver. _I see_, she said.

_For now, _said Eduard_, There is only one rule._

_House rules. Fantastic._

_You see the passages from here? _said Eduard_._

Onyxia looked around. In a corner of the cavern she saw Samia tucking a tired Saya into her bedroll. Serinar inspected the walls, frowning. _There is quite a few, all small,_ she said. _But big enough we can walk through in mortal form._

_The ones in the northern and eastern walls you must not go through,_ said Eduard. _They all lead to the same place above us. If you go up, you will be caught by agents of the Steward._

_And how do we know they will not go down here?_ said Onyxia.

_They have not been here in months,_ said Eduard. _If they hear nothing down here, they will not enter. Do not approach them unless you wish to be caught. We may be able to hide things from the Steward, but we cannot wipe his memory._

Hmm.

_The southern passages take you to the place from where you came,_ said Eduard, _The northeastern passages should be avoided at all costs. They are caved in, and behind them are the minions of the Old Gods. However the western passages all lead to Sholazar, and are quite safe, I assure you, for now. Eventually the Reds will search the zone for you. Be cautious. If you are caught, none of us will cover for you._

_Hmm._ A thought occurred to her. _What do you know of unascended dragonsworn?_

Eduard didn't answer for a moment. _Unascended what? — Pardon. Lady, I do not understand?_

Hm. Sabel hadn't wanted the Steward to find out. How dangerous would it be to tell Eduard? On second thought… _nothing_, she said. At least Sabel would be able to safely tell her now. She made the mental note to ask.

_As you wish, lady_, said Eduard. _Please excuse me, I have things to attend to. I will visit you personally soon._

She nodded to herself as she felt Eduard's presence fade.

On the lake's beach Serinar combed the sand for junk and put them in a pile. Books, some sodden with water, some not. A few broken vials. What looked like mouldy rations, and dried herbs. The head of a mace. How long ago had mercenaries been here and left their garbage behind? How few had come, how unknown was their mission, that the Red Flight had never heard about the cavern?

And yet, they'd left so much _junk_.

"This is Icecrown," said Serinar as he picked up a gauntlet, forever without a twin. The segments clinked together as he turned it over in his hands. "The walls are made of ice, so this must be the glacier itself. The Nerubians likely dug this out a long time ago." He gestured. "And there's a cave-in to the northeast. Sounds like Faceless Ones behind there, I recommend you do not touch it. Their blood stains the ground everywhere, they must have dwelt here once before the mortals who left all this garbage killed them — oh, look, a dead gnome, the cold has preserved her perfectly. _Fascinating_."

Onyxia didn't answer. She sat on the stone altar instead.

This was what silence sounded like. There was no rushing chaos of her thoughts, the atmosphere was free of panic, and the threat of death had ebbed. Even the Steward's constant company was gone, and now she finally knew how it felt to be truly _alone_, without Bolvar's presence, without the Steward's presence, even without Eduard's. Nothing but stillness.

It was the first true isolation she had felt in years, even by her standards.

Serinar continued to amble along the shore of the lake, picking up things here and there. Samia murmured a story to Saya in her bedroll. Onyxia felt like collapsing, felt like cradling her head in her hands, but she forced her chin to lift and pushed her shoulders back. Her stress had disappeared with the danger, leaving her drained and hollow. She hadn't had time to process anything before. Too busy clinging to Sabel's back, too busy running from Reds, too busy trying to block the Steward from her mind, too busy simmering in her cell. As all threats peeled away, everything she'd suppressed surged into the vacuum left behind and threatened to overwhelm her.

Orion's betrayal. Bolvar's death. Saya's birth. And everything that had happened since then — the Cataclysm, her father's return, the Northrend campaign, the Reds, the steady elimination of the breeding females…

She massaged her temples. She still couldn't think about it. As if everything that wanted her attention had trouble lining up and all pressed in on her, leaving her scattered, divided and numb.

Apathetic. Tired.

She was so tired.

Jettion landed at Onyxia's feet, his leathery wings folding closed as he nestled against her ankle. Only then did Onyxia see a hollow where one of his eyes should be, but she said nothing. Somehow, she wasn't surprised, but at least he was alive. She reached down to stroke his head, but he hissed and backed away, looking as embarrassed as a whelp could look.

It felt like a moment since she'd stood in the throne room of Stormwind Keep, still weak from human childbirth, a breath way from confessing, and yet it seemed so far away that it might never have happened at all. That moment froze in her mind's eye, a second from Nalice stepping in with an infant Saya in her arms.

The Black Dragonflight had been on top of the world, and then it was all pulled out from under foot. Whelps were wiped out by the dozens, dragonkin killed in their hundreds, the entire empire had been brought to its knees until what was left of it was absorbed into Deathwing's doomed army or reduced to hiding inside a glacier.

_And he'd let it happen_, whispered a voice inside her. _He made it happen. He set the Alliance on me like dogs and laughed as he destroyed everything I loved._

It sounded like her voice, but she knew better now. The Old Gods still whispered to her; why wouldn't they? While they were alive she could not escape.

And killing them all would destroy Azeroth.

Was there even a way out of this? Was the Obsidian Dawn doomed to sacrifice themselves for an already-dying world? Did they have to choose between a quick death by annihilating the Old Gods, if they even _could_, and a slow one by letting them live?

What way was there out of this?

Onyxia shook her head and banished the gloomy thoughts. Whether they were her own or the Old Gods trying to discourage her, it didn't matter; this was one area where the Dragonflight's idea of strength would come in useful. Willpower would serve her, here. Not wallowing in despair. She couldn't think about Stormwind, couldn't think about the dead, couldn't think about Bolvar. She had her own little brood to look after, here, a patchwork family of refugees. They needed her in the here and now.

She couldn't mourn. Mourning something of this magnitude could take forever.

"We're going to need wood to boil water," said Sam's voice behind her. "And a source of food for me and Saya. I don't know how long the rations will last, and I don't think the water in the lake would be safe to drink by itself. I mean, who knows what's been in here? And if those Old God minion thingies bled in it, well, drinking it would be suicide."

Onyxia didn't turn around. "The passages to the west lead to Sholazar, Von Andorhal tells me," she said. "In the morning I suggest you explore it and see what you can find."

"When the hell is morning, anyway?"

Onyxia didn't answer for a moment. "Who knows?"

"It's winter." Samia sat on the altar beside her. "It'd be dark most of the time anyway, in this part of the world."

Onyxia surprised herself when she said, "So, you finally met my brother, and I see he's taken to you like a duck to water, just as I predicted. He does enjoy the company of wallflowers. How do you find him?"

Samia didn't answer for a moment. "He... wasn't what I expected."

"How so?"

"You spoke like he was some wise, calm dragon, some sage who could be in the middle of disaster and not be ruffled," said Samia. "The one _I_ met was chaos incarnate, constantly forgetful and getting pissy at the slightest provocation."

"He has always been that way."

"When we were in Outland I had to keep an eye on his potions all the time or he'd completely forget he was brewing them and they'd be ruined," said Sam. "One moment he's calm and composed, the next he's flapping about over something or other, and then he'll completely forget about it again. He could be upset that I stole his lunch, and somehow him chewing me out turns into a lecture on the mating rituals of Arakkoa." Samia looked confused. "That one actually _happened_ once."

A sigh escaped from Onyxia's mouth. She couldn't feel angry at Samia right now, she felt too tired. Far too tired. "He has been different since I knew him, since before he crossed the portal. I've noticed his sarcasm has disappeared, for the most part."

"He's been different to me too since Serinar came for us," said Samia. "Jettion's changed, too, but Sabel… not long after the Cataclysm he started feeling unwell, and it's only gotten worse."

"Sick?" Onyxia glanced to him. "That's unusual, he has such a knack with medicine."

"Nothing's working." Samia rolled her shoulders. "He says it's just stress. Maybe it is. He's always a lot more tense around other dragons. I could always tell if Obsidia or Rivendark had been by the Circle of Blood just by how quiet he was."

With Serinar plodding along the shore of the lake and the dragonsworn the only one watching, Onyxia did not bother keep her mask of superior indifference on. She sighed again, resting her head in her hands. "I did tell you that you would get along with him."

"Does that bother you?"

"I don't care," she said, and that was the truth. She still didn't like Sam anymore than she did when she'd died, and as long as her brother didn't try to make her like his dragonsworn, she _couldn't_ care less.

"Sorry won't take back what I did." Sam shrugged. "It would be a mockery to say sorry. Such a small word, for such a big crime. I've learned enough about the Flight to know that. But I do want to do everything I can to make up for my failure."

"It won't bring them back, either."

"Nothing can."

Sabel really had rubbed off on the girl. Most dragonsworn after five years of training were the ultimate sycophants, but of course, Sam was blunt and honest. Sabel's dragonsworn had always been like that. How she had changed…

She was probably in training to become a Flametongue or Scalebane one day, the highest ranks among the dragonspawn. There was nobody else who could become the leader of the dragonspawn, with all the others dead in the massacre. When all was said and done, if the Obsidian Dawn survived, Samia was the only person who was eligible. Her job would be to rebuild the dragonspawn, to resurrect the wyrmcults of old, to bring back the dragonspawn that served the Broodmothers...

One day, she would become dragonspawn. But not until she had walked the long, gruelling path of the dragonsworn.

"You will have a task soon," said Onyxia. "I know not what it is yet, Von Andorhal has not yet deigned to tell me. I will not do this task, as the Bronze foretold, because it will go against Von Andorhal's wishes and at this time I do not think it wise to go against the desires of a man who has our fates in his hands. But you will do it, you will succeed, and you will serve your Flight. Not simply to the best of your ability; your best was not good enough, and it never will be. But you will constantly make your best better and better, do you understand?"

"Yes, Onyxia."

_Yes, Broodmother, you mean,_ Onyxia wanted to snap at her, but the anger died as quickly as it came.

She wasn't a Broodmother anymore.

She couldn't lay eggs ever again. Couldn't have children ever again, would never know pregnancy again, would never again be in a cavern filled with her whelps —

She'd never know what it would be like to hatch children free of the Old God corruption, even if they did succeed.

"We have no choice but to trust our new allies," said Onyxia, "yet we must make a contingency plan nonetheless. That plan must be made, and soon, and I must be kept in the dark should Von Andorhal's magic fail and I find the Steward making a home in my head as if he owns the place."

Perhaps it wouldn't be so wise to ask Sabel about the unascended dragonsworn after all.

Sabellian limped into the cavern, accompanied by the sound of his uneven footsteps. "Nalice is laying," he said, relief evident on his features. Onyxia hadn't seen an open expression on his face in a long time, but then, why hide it? Serinar was distracted by his pile of garbage, and Samia and Onyxia wouldn't mock Sabellian for showing weakness.

Even on his dark skin Onyxia could see the bags under Sabel's eyes, the way his shoulders slumped, his heavy eyelids. She was so used to his vigilance, to his constant state of alert, but right now her brother looked as if he was about to collapse. He rubbed the side of his head, and although Onyxia waited for him to stop, he didn't.

"You should sleep," said Samia, and Onyxia stifled a twinge of annoyance. Instead, she felt embarrassed on her brother's behalf that his _dragonsworn_ felt it necessary to become a mother hen.

But Sabellian had no pride unless other dragons were watching. For once, Onyxia didn't seem to be counted among them. "Maybe," he said. "Unless Onyx has news."

Onyxia frowned. "Eduard Von Andorhal wishes to speak to all of us once Nalice has finished laying," she said. "There is a mission that involves Samia Inkling. He hasn't yet told me what it is."

"Samia?" Sabel frowned. "What does he want her to do?"

"We don't know yet."

"Then I will stay awake," said Sabel. Samia frowned, but said nothing. "Where is a safe place to hunt?"

"Sholazar, probably," said Samia. "Through the western tunnels."

"But be careful of the Reds," said Onyx.

Titans. Sabel hadn't eaten in all this time, either, and with that coupled with his sleep deprivation, it was no wonder Sabellian looked like hell. Sabellian nodded, his eyes slipping closed, still rubbing his head.

He stood there for a long moment, with Samia's gentle frown watching him, before he spoke at last. "Perhaps it's time to explore our new surroundings."

-o-O-o-

Onyxia didn't hear from Eduard Von Andorhal over the next few hours, as Serinar's pile of garbage grew and Sabel joined the scavenging. First Sabel raided Serinar's own pile of garbage, rescuing a few books and vials, before he prowled the sand and ice himself. In time, Sabel made a pile of broken glass on top of the altar. The shards glinted blue in the light.

Onyxia was unsurprised by Serinar's behaviour; the man had occupied a shrine for thousands of years. Dragons were nomadic in nature, and Serinar was the one exception to the rule, it was little wonder he nested like a pregnant wyrm. But Sabellian? "What does he want to do with the glass?" she asked, when Samia came back to the altar to rest. The pieces tinkled as Samia tipped more onto the pile.

"He says he knows how to make them into vials again," said Samia. "He needs the right equipment, I figured he'll get that later, if he gets an opportunity." Then her face twisted into a grimace and she said, "I hope so. He's murder when he's bored — oh! Wait right here."

Samia dashed to Saya's side and returned to the altar with her pack. Onyxia blinked, watching, as Samia fished clothing from it. "Here," she said, pushing the pile to Onyxia. "I got these when I was in Dalaran, and bought Saya new clothing too. I figured you wouldn't want to be running around in Katrana Prestor's dress anymore. Sabel said you'd have more clothing in the Nether but I didn't know if you'd have anything enchanted." As Onyxia touched the pile, the warmth seeped into her fingertips. "I thought that it would help with your, uh. Condition."

Onyxia snorted, but said, "Sabel has trained you well indeed."

Sam smiled.

It felt strange to dress in plain sight. Humans were so picky over modesty compared to dragons and it had rubbed off on Onyxia, leaving her uncomfortable and exposed as she changed. The hem of Katrana's dress was still covered in Dustwallow mud, the history of a massacre preserved in ice, fabric and earth.

She would keep the dress and never clean it.

The blue robes she pulled over her head were thick, and a deep green-blue that came down to her mid thighs. The pants covered her legs even past the ankles, and although she had to shrink her feet slightly to fit the boots, they were snug as well. Katrana Prestor had rarely worn pants. The hood hung down her back. The warmth imbued in the fabric made it easier to move, thawing out her joints and body to a comfortable temperature.

Undeath was not pretty. Her heart sunk at the thought, before she shoved it aside. Undeath could not be reversed.

At that moment Nalice staggered out from one of the passages. Her human form was paler than Onyxia had ever seen it, and she wobbled slightly on her feet. Blood stained her robes, and only then did Onyxia see Sabellian behind her. He must have healed her; after laying spiked eggs, there was no other way Nalice could be walking around in human form so soon. She wore her familiar smirk, too, but Nalice _always_ smirked. "Good," said Nalice. "The robes you wore in Stormwind Keep were awful."

Onyxia couldn't resist. "Inkling picked these."

"And these are _worse_," said Nalice without missing a beat. "Where _are_ we?" She scrutinised the area. Serinar abandoned his pile of garbage to gravitate towards his consort. "Icecrown? Are we inside a _glacier_?"

"So it would _seem_, Nalice," said Serinar. "Aren't you as observational as ever?"

_Eduard_, Onyxia called. _We are all present. Are you there?_

_Please don't do that again, lady,_ said Eduard. _When the Steward awakens, he will be able to hear you if you do that. I will check on you in my own terms. You are all here, you say?_

Onyxia tried to roll her eyes, but the crystals in her eye sockets didn't move. _That is what I _said_, yes._

"Von Andorhal has some things to say," said Onyxia. She channelled her hearing, and the image of the group in front of her to Eduard. She felt his acknowledgement.

"Well?" Nalice rose an eyebrow. "I do not see him present!"

"I'm speaking for him, he's communicating with telepathy."

"You seem to go from being one omniscient being's bitch to another's," said Nalice. "I bet Fordragon is laughing in his grave. Or crying. Gods know he was pathetic enough."

As he received that, Eduard communicated mild amusement. _Is she compensating for her weakness?_ said Eduard. _That seems typical of your kind. Tell them what I say after I've said it, and if it is not too much trouble, lady, please keep broadcasting so I can hear what they have to say. Let us begin..._

"Nyxondra laid an egg," said Onyxia.

Before Eduard could continue, Nalice clapped her hands together. "This is an amazing insight! I never _knew_ Broodmothers could do that!"

Samia glanced at Sabellian. "Nalice reminds me of her father."

"Nyxondra was a weak dragon," said Serinar. "Inbred. It would not surprise me if her child was _even more_ inbred, too. What I am curious about is why Von Andorhal and Onyxia speak only of _one_ egg."

"I assume there were others, although they're not important." Onyxia repeated Eduard's words to her. "_This_ egg is important because it was purified, by a Titanic device called the Eye of the Watchers."

Nalice straightened in interest, and almost stumbled. Serinar frowned. Sabel perked. Samia just watched with the same wide-eyed look she'd worn often in Stormwind.

"Purified?" asked Nalice.

"From Old God corruption." As she spoke the words, Onyxia felt a flutter of hope.

"And what does purification do?" Nalice shifted her weight to her other leg as she crossed her arms. Onyxia expected her to topple at any moment. "Anything useful?"

"I expect it quells the violent compulsions within your — " Onyxia stopped, and modified Eduard's wording. " — _our_ race. And let's be honest, that's why most of us are..." Onyxia frowned as Eduard continued to speak.

_Just say it, dammit_, said Eduard. Then, _Pardon, the Steward has rubbed off on me too much. Please say it, milady._

"And that's why most of us are dead," said Onyxia. She curled her hand into a fist. "The original task of our race was to watch over the deep places of the earth — indeed, Von Andorhal, we _know_ this — and instead, corruption made us wage war against the rest of the world. War which is on the precipice of resulting in our extinction as the rest of the world has finally fought back." Onyxia clenched her jaw. "Whatever your opinion of the Old Gods, you can't deny this isn't the best place to be. In addition, the Ambassador tells me — told _Von Andorhal_ — that the Black Dragonflight had much natural power before the corruption, power you — we — were choked off from."

"Just tell us what he says," said Serinar. "This self-editing is getting on my nerves."

"Power you're not completely out of touch from." Onyxia glared at Serinar. "But unable to use as easily as you used to."

"This makes sense," said Sabellian. "I've known very few draconic shaman over the years, and all of the former shaman I knew were from before the War of the Ancients. I had to learn my art from the vrykul."

_Tell us about this egg,_ said Onyxia.

"Nalice's eggs were captured by the Red Dragonflight," said Onyxia. "They noticed one particularly powerful egg. It seemed to have inherited either Maleficent's or Sabellian's natural power, but the power is comparable to the Heir of Earth's — that is, Nyxondra's egg. The Heir of Earth is at risk of being captured and killed by Deathwing, so Alexstrasza decided Nalice's egg would be a good decoy."

Nalice hissed. "She seeks to use my children, does she?"

"Since when do _you_ care about _our_ children?" Serinar raised an eyebrow.

"Since when do _you_?"

"I'm pointing out your hypocrisy. _I_ could not care less."

"_Nothing_ gives the Red Dragonflight the right to use _any_ of our blood!"

"Well, if you have so little faith in your bloodline's ability to produce strong children capable of fighting back it would not surprise me — "

"The eggs have been given to two mercenaries," said Onyxia, before Nalice could lunge at her consort. "As to which egg was given to which mercenary, it's a closely-guarded secret, I expect only Lirastrasza, Alexstrasza and another dragon called Corastrasza will know. The egg will go to Corastrasza in the Vermillion Redoubt. While we don't know where one egg is, we _do_ know the other is headed for Menethil Harbour via a boat from Valgarde. Whether it's the real egg or the decoy, it's in your best interests to recover it immediately. The mercenary will be at Valgarde within the week, I expect."

"Within the week?" said Samia. "We couldn't catch up unless we flew!"

Sabel frowned. "Why is it called the Heir of Earth?"

"Because the Reds plan for it to become Aspect of Earth once Deathwing is dead," said Onyxia. "It's known by a few other names, too... Black Prince or Princess, Black Messiah..."

"_Messiah_." Nalice snickered.

"Samia Inkling." At Onyxia's urging from Eduard, she nodded in the dragonsworn's direction. "You're going to fetch the Heir of Earth for us."

_Why her?_ she asked Eduard.

_Begging your pardon, lady_, said Eduard._ From what I have heard from the Steward, Nalice and Serinar do not seem to have the Obsidian Dawn's best interests in mind, only themselves._

_You are right, I suppose_, said Onyxia. _They have always promoted the idea of "the strongest survives," and I doubt the attitude will wash clean of them any time soon. But why not Sabellian or I?_

_If my magic should fail, I do not want the Steward getting his hands on the eggs,_ said Eduard. _That will mean a lost opportunity for the rest of us, because he is too far gone to listen to us should we urge him not to give it to the Red Flight. He would believe it in Azeroth's best interests. Nor do I trust Sabellian, or Samia Inkling, but between the rest of you, she is the lowest risk. She is dragonspawn, therefore even hunters who can detect dragons may not notice her, and she can hide among the Horde and the Alliance. Also, pardon lady, but you're dead. You can't hide among the Alliance._

_Wait_, said Onyxia, as the rest of the Dawn stared at her in expectation. _She is Ascended? Already?_

_Yes_, said Eduard. _So Indigosa reported told me. I believe that is how she avoided us in Dalaran._

... So _that_ was the secret Sabellian had kept from her, kept from the Steward. She suppressed her hot annoyance. Now was _not_ the time.

_It must be Samia who does this_, said Eduard. _I will accept no one else._

So this was what Amandine had died for. She had died so that Samia could save the Heir of Earth, who could then save the Black Dragonflight.

But what had Onyxia's children died for? What had _she_ died for?

If she were alive, Eduard would not have found her, would not have told her of the Heir of Earth. Was this what she died for?

Onyxia relayed Eduard's words onto the Obsidian Dawn. Samia shuffled on the spot guiltily, but Sabellian met Onyxia's eyes without flinching. "Because we did not learn from our mistake of entrusting _everything_ with Samia Inkling the first time, I expect," Onyxia added.

"Five years with the Flight is different from five months," said Sabellian.

"I'm not going to get to Valgarde on time," said Samia. "That's in the Fjord! And if the boat leaves with the merc on it..." Samia began to wring her hands, then put them behind her back. "Could be weeks, if not months, before I return. Especially if we don't know where the other egg is."

"Inkling." Onyxia glared at her. "Either you come back with that egg, or you _die trying_."

"And you must recover my child, as well," said Nalice. "Or you will _definitely_ die."

"Understood," said Samia.

But Sabellian scowled. "She's no use to us _dead_."

Nalice sneered. "Don't be so sentimental."

"Bring both eggs," said Onyxia. "I do not expect you to know the difference between a corrupted Blackwhelp and a pure one, anyway."

"Or any of you," said Serinar. "I am the only one present old enough to remember uncorrupted whelps."

"Actually, no," said Sabellian, ignoring Serinar's glower. "On Outland, I believe there was Old God magic, but not of the kind that corrupted us on Azeroth. The whelps that hatched on that planet were pure. Samia saw how Jettion changed when we returned here, she knows the difference."

"There are whelps on Outland?" said Onyxia. "When why are we wasting our time here? Why not hide on Outland with the brood that was born pure, away from the Old Gods' taint?"

Sabellian shook his head. "The Red Dragonflight's watching the portal, they don't know the eggs are there and I'm not about to risk leading them finding out. Serinar did, and it could have costed us everything if they followed him through."

"And now the Steward's lieutenant knows," said Nalice. "Congratulations, idiots."

"Outland is enormous, they would be searching for a very long time if he raised the alarm."

"If Nalice were with us when we crossed over, they would pursue," said Serinar.

"No matter," said Nalice. "I will remain alone."

"You are _not_."

"How sweet of you, Serinar," said Nalice. Serinar's fingers twitched. "I didn't know you cared!"

"I hardly know of anyone _else_ to mother my young, since the remainder of my mates are _dead_."

"In that case, thank the Titans I am too," said Onyxia. Serinar glared at her. Nalice looked smug.

_Can you stop bickering, lady? _said Eduard. _There is more_.

Eduard's words started up again, and Onyxia spoke. "Jet was corrupted again when he returned to Azeroth. Nyxondra's egg is not only pure, it's immune to corruption. The whelps in Outland aren't."

"I could not care less about the purified egg or this Heir of Earth," said Nalice. "What is important is that _my_ egg is being used as a pawn by the Red Dragonflight, _I_ have a powerful child, nd he or she will require tutoring by _our_ Flight, not by the Reds, if they ever deign to change their mind and realise what a valuable whelp they have sent to its death." Only then did Nalice finally sit down. "In fact, once I have recovered my strength... I know of a place underneath Karazhan that is a perfect place to hide. It is full of powerful magic, my mother once used the place as her base, and — "

"I said you are _not_ leaving," said Serinar.

"Go ahead and _stop me_," said Nalice.

"You're not living for you anymore, Nalice," said Sabellian. "You have to survive for the rest of us. Your life is just as important as the Heir's — "

"_I_ _do what I want_, thank you very much!"

"At the expense of the rest of us?" said Samia.

Nalice's nostrils flared. "How dare you speak to me like that."

"You're not my patron, so shut up."

"_What did you just say_? "

"Enough," Onyxia barked. Serinar snarled, his eyes fixed on Samia. "Do we have any hints as to the location of the second egg?"

"Why ask us?" Nalice sneered.

Eduard answered. "If the egg heading to Valgarde is the pure one," said Onyxia, "then it will be easy enough to get the decoy. The name of the mercenary carrying the decoy has been leaked to the Twilight's Hammer. As Black dragonspawn, Samia may be able to infiltrate the Twilight's Hammer and discover where the decoy is, if it's still alive. If the egg on the boat to Menethil is the decoy, then you'll have a trickier job of infiltrating the Vermillion Redoubt and stealing the Heir from there."

"Hatch them," said Sabellian. "You'll find out from the behaviour of the whelpling which one it is, and then you can decide what to do next."

"It could be too late by then." Nalice clenched her fists. "Von Andorhal, find out which egg has gone where — "

"I've _tried_, lady." Onyxia spoke the words that appeared in her head. "The Reds are keeping it tightly locked down, because if any other merc finds out that one of their fellows are being used, it may get ugly."

"If that _is_ Nyxondra's child on the boat, by the time Samia gets to the Twilight's Hammer she will have to hide it."

"I'm perfectly capable of that," said Samia. "But I won't get to Valgarde on time."

"Indigosa will take you," said Onyxia. "But first she is making some preparations. You will arrive at Valgarde on time, but once you're there, you're on your own. Bring back the egg, even if it means boarding that ship yourself."

"I'll do my best," said Samia.

"Your best had better be good enough," said Onyxia.

_The Eye of the Watchers,_ said Eduard. _I must tell you about that._

Onyxia spoke again. "The Eye of the Watchers, which purified the Heir of Earth, was depleted of energy in the process. Do you think you could do anything with it? Recharge it?"

"The Titanic device?" said Sabellian. "We would have to find an appropriate power source, but there are Titanic places all over Sholazar, and we'll be able to access them easily enough. Where is this device?"

"In Alexstrasza's possession." Onyxia relayed Eduard's answer. "I or the Ambassador could steal it if we have to. She's keeping it only out of idle fancy, it's not even guarded."

"Alexstrasza is not the best person to keep it," said Onyxia. "She is corrupt, too."

Eduard sighed. _This was not unexpected._

"Don't take the Eye until we tell you to," said Sabel. "We don't want to raise an alarm."

"Even fewer reasons to rescue this so-called Heir of Earth," said Nalice. "We can purify another dragon and _they_ can be Aspect. Simple."

"Who do you suggest?" said Serinar. "You? _Titans_, no. Onyxia, meanwhile, is dead, and Sabellian is incompetent at everything except being a coward. And I am _not_ taking on the responsibility of looking after a bunch of morons. Oh, and Samia Inkling is becoming Black Aspect _over my dead body_."

"But what if we can't purify a dragon?" said Samia.

"You may not be able to," said Onyxia, as Eduard spoke to her again. "Nobody knows whether it was partially depleted before it purified the egg, or whether it already held all the power it could. If it's the latter, then you'll have to ferry it back and forth from a power source to purify any of Nalice's children."

"First, we need to look for that power source," said Sabellian. "Onyxia and I will start our search once Samia is gone, and we'll search for food, too."

"I'd rather Onyxia didn't — " Onyxia scowled. "I will do as I _wish_, Von Andorhal."

_I'd rather not let you get too far,_ said Eduard. _If the Steward found out..._

_I'm going_, said Onyxia.

... _Fine_, said Eduard.

"She can't fly," said Nalice. "Didn't you state as much?"

"Which is good," said Sabellian, "because the moment any of us lift off in dragon form, we'll be a target. Anything could see us, the mercs haven't all left Northrend. Is that all, Von Andorhal?"

Eduard was quiet for a moment, and then said, _It is, indeed._

"He'll alert me as soon as Indigosa is ready," said Onyxia.

As Eduard's presence faded, Nalice said, "We can't trust him, are you all _fools_?"

"There's little else to do," said Onyxia.

"As if _your_ judgement has always proven to be sound!"

"I could say the same about yours." Onyxia glanced to Samia, who flinched. "Nalice, do you have a _better_ idea?"

"Scatter," said Nalice. "The eggs are laid, and safe, we can survive better alone — "

"Your egg is still being sacrificed to Deathwing," said Samia.

"Fine." Nalice crossed her arms. "Send that incompetent whelp to recover the eggs, _I_ don't care."

And with that, Nalice lifted herself from her perch and stormed off. Serinar drifted after her. If it were anyone else, Onyxia would be reminded of the puppy Crithto trailing after little Myth in Stormwind, but Serinar moved more like an ominous second shadow.

"You had best sleep, then," said Sabel to Samia. "You have not slept in a while, and may not be able to again for some time."

Samia eyeballed him. "Are you going to sleep?"

"No. Don't fuss."

"You're a stubborn _git_. Why not?"

Sabel cast a glance in Onyxia's direction before he answered. "Because I would rather keep watch in case of a trap," he said. "I am wary enough of letting you go alone with the frostwyrm."

"Leave the northern and eastern tunnels alone," said Onyxia. "There are nasty individuals who would raise the alarm on the other ends, I hear. I'll explore them on my own later. For now, we need to learn these other tunnels, and learn them well, in case the worst should happen."

"Indeed," said Sabel. "Samia, sleep." Samia opened her mouth, but Sabel cut across her. "I ask you that as your _patron_, Samia, not as a friend. You have work to do and you _need_ sleep."

Samia sighed. "Alright, have it your way."

When Samia was gone, Onyxia sat back down on the altar. Sabellian gazed into space.

Onyxia watched Saya's sleeping form in the bedroll on the other side of the cavern.

They not only had the Heir of Earth, their future Aspect and Leader, to be hopeful for. They had the Eye of the Watchers. They could be purified, too, made immune to the Old Gods' corruption, redeemed at last to build anew…

… _If_ it had enough power.

"If only," Onyxia said, "that the Eye was powerful enough to purify Father."

Sabel gazed into space. "I would very much have liked to get to know the person he once was."

* * *

**_A/N: _**_Thanks to all who reviewed, and to the people who left encouragement. I've also noticed a lot of favs in the last few weeks - welcome to new readers!_

_I'm still editing previous chapters. Since there's been a lot of confusion I made an FAQ post on my Tumblr to clear things up so people don't have to reread the chapters when they're edited - click the homepage link on my profile for the post. Hopefully that'll untangle some knots._


	51. A Rushed Departure

_**A/N:**__ Next chapter won't take as long, whew, don't worry. ;) Thanks to my betas __**Diloph**__ and __**Coincidencless**__, and to everyone who reviewed!_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

* * *

The snow biting through Samia's thin bedroll woke her with its chill. Her eyes fluttered open.

Jettion sat on the edge of the lake once again in the form of a girl, looking mournful. He wore some of Saya's clothes. The pile of garbage Serinar had been attending to lay scattered across the beach. Saya curled up against a wall with her new notebook on her legs, scrawling in it with her pencil.

The adult dragons were nowhere to be seen. Samia shed the furs she slept on and without bothering to tidy her hair went hunting for them. She found Onyxia first, patrolling the western corridors and muttering to herself. She ignored Samia as she passed. Samia thought she detected Serinar's scent, if faintly. Nalice's was fresher.

She might never get used to the sharper senses being a dragonspawn gave her.

As the passage dipped and twisted into a dark, but hot cavern, Nalice came out ahead of her. She fixed her scowl on Samia. "Dragonsworn," she said. "Where is Serinar?"

"I only just woke up," said Sam. "I haven't seen him. Can't you smell him?"

Nalice ignored the question. "What about his little pile of... _treasures_?"

"Looks like someone knocked them over."

Nalice's scowl deepened. "I kicked them over eight hours ago."

"Can't you smell him out?"

"Of course I can!" Nalice crossed her arms and glared. She still looked pale, and the cold didn't help, but her glower was as searing as ever. "Evidently he's disappeared to Sholazar without telling us, I simply wanted to know if he _returned_. Idiot."

Sabellian stepped out from behind Nalice. The passage behind him flared orange, briefly, before dying down back to a dull glow. "He would clean up if he were here."

"Why doesn't he just bury the stuff?" said Samia. Nalice turned up her nose and stormed past her.

"I think it's a desire to be organised, not to be clean," said Sabellian. "Still, his disappearance is worrying. In the thousands of years that Serinar was Shrinekeeper, longer than I've been alive, he only left the Shrine when the Flight was in great danger. Even when the Scourge came, he didn't leave. His venturing out of the shrine to find me was what convinced me that the issues here were serious enough to warrant my assistance."

Samia heard a soft scuffing behind her. She turned to see Jettion, still in the form of a little girl, clutching a torch from Sam's pack, having trotted after Sam. "Are we in trouble?" she said, looking back to Sabel.

"No more than we were earlier, I believe," said Sabel. "Serinar is simply still on edge, but he's wise to be. I wouldn't be too worried about him. I want to show you something, Samia."

"Oh?" She looked back to him. Self consciously she raked her fingers through her messy hair, wincing. What she wouldn't give for a bath…

"Indeed," said Sabellian. "When you locate the first egg I expect you to be able to recognise it as either Nalice's egg or Nyxondra's. Although I cannot give you any examples of Nyxondra's shells, I can show you Nalice's. Come."

Jettion trotted after them both. As he lit the torch he held, Sam said, "Why do you take the form of a girl so much?"

Jettion shrugged. "I like both."

"Does he need a reason?" said Sabel. "I spent a few centuries as a female vrykul long ago. Don't you get bored, being female all the time?"

"I don't wish I was a man sometimes because I'm _bored_," said Sam.

As they stepped through the corridor into a dull, glowing cavern, Samia's eyes adjusted quickly. The cavern was cramped for a dragon, although spacious for a human. As a dragonspawn, Samia's draconic sight appeared to be better than Sabel's, who carefully picked his way over the ground as if wary of tripping over an errant rock that stood out clear as day to Samia's vision.

After all, traditionally, dragonspawn looked after dragon eggs in near-pitch dark caverns when the broodmother was away.

Her footsteps crunched on bone and gravel, and occasionally she sent a piece of marble skittering across the ground. She made out the orange glow of a small pool of magma. As she watched, a bubble broke the surface and made the light flare. She winced at the sudden pain in her eyes when the marble in the walls only made it brighter, until it ebbed away again. Strange, she didn't know magma acted like that, but then, this was Northrend.

At first, with her vision distorted and still seeing the imprint of the brief flare of the magma, she thought the objects lining the cave were rocks, but when Jettion stepped forward the light of his torch fell upon dozens and dozens of eggs. Sabellian stopped in his place. Samia stopped beside him. She squinted at the eggs as the afterimage in her retinas began to fade.

"The spikes _do_ have a certain pattern," she said after a moment. "It's genetic, isn't it? The pattern of the spikes, I mean."

"Indeed," said Sabel. He sounded tired, still, pushing the heel of his hand up his forehead with a yawn. If only he would sleep. He wasn't good to anyone like this. "Nyxondra's egg would look quite different to these ones. The spikes on Nalice's eggs are on the small side, but I expect Nyxondra's eggs would be much smaller."

"Why's that?"

"Inbred," said Sabellian. "With a few exceptions, inbred dragon eggs tend to be quite small."

"So why is Onyxia small? She's not, uh, inbred, is she?"

"Every litter has a runt," said Sabellian. "No, she's not, but she was a runt. Some eggs don't have time to form properly in the womb before they are laid, and the whelps that hatch — if they hatch at all — are tiny when they emerge. If Onyxia was hatched after the War of the Ancients, chances are she'd have died during the Purging. I was small, too, when I hatched."

"The Purging…" She was sure Sabel had mentioned that once. "What's that, again?"

"Look." Sabel gestured to an egg at their feet. At half the size of the others, it was _tiny_. "That would have been a sentry whelp under different circumstances. Do you remember what sentry whelps are?"

"Sentry whelps are the eggs that are laid outside of the cave for the express purpose of being — well — sentries," said Samia. "They hatch when there are intruders, or just hatch on their own, often days after being laid. They, uh… were they laid first or last?"

"First," said Sabel. "The smallest eggs are always laid first. The whelps in there wouldn't survive the Purging, and even if it didn't exist they might not live to grow up, and so they're laid in a place where they can at least be useful before they die. The Purging is the process corrupt whelps go through after they hatch, when they turn on each other and kill one another. The weakest die first. The sentry whelps don't kill each other as often because their eggs are spaced out and they don't feel crowded, like the ones inside, but…" Sabellian looked at the small egg at his feet. "This one will die, mark my words… wait, I got side tracked, didn't I?"

"We were talking about recognising Nyxondra's eggs?" said Samia.

"There may be a problem recognising her child," said Sabel. "Nyxondra is only a few centuries old — well. Was. Chances are she's related to us, as almost every single Black dragon alive is related to another in _some_ way. Within the last millennia, we stopped keeping track of family connections and ties because it was impossible to find a mate that wasn't a cousin. Dragons stopped taking new mates because there was no one to mate with that wasn't a relative, and as more of us died, more of us stopped breeding. Some dragons fixed this by deciding not to ever ask about the lineage of potential mates."

"And. Um. You?"

"I had several mates that I'd mated with thousands of years ago," said Sabel. "I didn't need new mates, and even if I did, I would have abstained rather than do that. Mortals detest incest, after all, and they influence me deeply. I was one of the oldest dragons, after all, and the older dragons — Nalice, Serinar, me, Onyxia — had mates they knew for sure weren't related to them. Some dragons stopped searching for mates altogether rather than risk polluting the bloodline. Others thought it was a good thing — that the concentration of the genes of strong dragons would lead to strong children. Of course, they were wrong, the children were weak. More of them died after the Purging from their injuries than non-inbred children."

His eyes unfocused. "Do not mistake me, Nalice and Serinar are not related. Neither was Onyxia and… Orion." His voice cracked slightly at the word. Sabel so rarely talked about the mate who'd betrayed them all. "Or Orion and I. But Nyxondra… families grew more and more distant from the young that were born in the last thousand years or so. If Nyxondra's a descendent of Nalice's, then her inbreeding would mean she'd only have a greater concentration of Nalice's genes. It's unlikely, but not impossible, especially as Nalice doesn't even know the names of most of her children anyway. She never particularly cared to keep track."

His eyes slid to Samia's. "Which is why it's even more important to find both eggs. Only by their behaviour could you tell a purified whelp from a corrupt one."

"But there won't be any Purging," said Samia. "Whelps that hatch on their own are different from whelps that hatch in clutches. I mean, if whelps on their own were just as savage as whelps in a group then they wouldn't be a popular pet in Stormwind."

"That's another problem," said Sabel. "The Old Gods compel them to destroy their own kind so… if Nyxondra _is_ related to Nalice, then you won't be able to tell for sure until both eggs hatch and the whelps are exposed to each other."

"And the whelp that attacks is Nalice's," said Samia. "I'd have to be careful. I can't let it _actually_ attack Nyxondra's child, if the child will be as weak as you say."

"Be very, very careful, Samia," said Sabellian.

"We have a problem, though."

Sabellian arched an eyebrow.

"If I get the first egg and can't tell which it is," said Samia, "how will I know where to look for the second one?"

Sabellian paused for a moment. "Don't tell Nalice I said this…"

"Yes?"

"But the Heir of Earth takes priority over the decoy," said Sabellian. "The Heir of Earth is definitely going to the Vermillion Redoubt. If you get the egg and you cannot tell for sure which one it is, go to the Redoubt first. If there isn't an egg there, nor any sign of one coming, it's safe to say you have the real then."

"But by then it could be too late to save the decoy."

"I know," said Sabellian quietly. "But if we lose the Heir of Earth, we could lose everything."

"There must be a way to save them both."

"Can you think of one?" said Sabellian. "If I had taken another Dragonsworn it would be a simple matter of having you go separate ways, but… no. There is only you, and if you can only save one, the Heir must be the one who is saved."

Samia wrung her hands.

Sabellian's tone softened. "Otherwise we _all_ go unredeemed. But remember, Samia, even if you cannot save the decoy it still stands a chance."

"Really?"

"As Onyxia said, the decoy has great power." Sabellian straightened. "Maleficent and I have a lot of natural power, and the decoy must have inherited both. I think… I think it will be fine. Whelplings are not like mortal children, they fend for themselves from day one, and a powerful whelpling will be more than capable of being on its own for a while. As long as it hatches before it reaches Deathwing… whelplings are sensitive. If the merc carrying it intends to kill it, it'll be able to tell immediately."

Which explained why, in Blade's Edge, every time Samia had to administer medication to a sick whelpling it would hide before she'd even gotten out the vial.

"I hope you're right," said Samia.

"Me too."

"So you're a shaman," said Samia. "What kind of power did Maleficent have?"

"A combination of a shadow priest's, a warlock's and a mage's," said Sabellian.

Not a surprise to hear. Dragons didn't have rigid separation between classes and schools of magic the way mortals did.

The pair of them fell quiet. Samia continued to gaze at the eggs when she felt an arm curl around her waist and a grunt from Sabel as his forehead connected with her shoulder. She blinked, and patted him awkwardly.

"Um," she said. "I'm not a bed. You need sleep." He straightened up again. His arm tightened around her as he winced, suddenly clutching his head. "Migraine?" she said.

"Isn't it always?" he said.

"Does it get worse if you're tired?" she said meaningfully. "You can barely stay upright."

"I'm not hugging you," he suddenly said.

"I didn't accuse you of it." Oh, Sabel, _so_ strange when he was sleepy. She hadn't forgotten what happened the _first_ time she encountered him when he was sleepy.

Sometimes she still wondered, if the gronn hadn't been there, would he have killed her? Or would he have come to his senses first?

It wasn't something she liked to think about.

He let go of her in favour of rubbing his head with both hands. "No, not tiredness, it's stress making it worse. Drop it."

"Alright. Sorry."

"Nrrph." He flinched, and clutched his head, cursing. Sam bit her tongue. If he was swearing, then the pain _was_ bad. He generally hid illness better than whelps did.

But when he saw Sam's concerned eyes on him his own expression softened. He dropped both arms by his side. "I'm fine," he said. "It wouldn't be so bad if I had access to alchemy supplies. I've been medicating those headaches away for millennia, using a new potion when an old one stopped working, I'm unused to their true… severity."

"If you say so," she murmured.

Sabel's eyes drifted back over the eggs. "We all have to go without, now," he said. "I can't even hope that things will return to normal, because 'normal' wasn't even a good place for us to be in in the first place..."

"I'll do what I can."

"Will you be alright, on your own?"

Sam winced. "I'll be fine."

"This is the first time you've been on your own since Outland."

_Since you stabbed your ex,_ he meant.

She shrugged. "I know," she said, ignoring the quickening of her heart. Before, he'd always been a walk away, a looming, threatening presence. A single glare at the most hardened of mercenaries ensured nobody ever touched her.

Especially not after what happened to Norris. _Some_ people believed Sabel had been responsible, after all…

He sighed. "I suppose there is little that can be done," he said. "My company would only endanger you, as I can't move as fast as you can in mortal form. And this time you don't have Jettion to protect you."

"Which is probably good, because if something happened like last time he'd lose his _other_ eye and then Onyxia will eat me for breakfast." He'd been screaming, that night, after he'd flown at Norris. Blood had poured from his face freely. Later it got infected, he almost hadn't made it…

Sabellian flinched. "It won't happen again," he said. "It shouldn't. Maybe if you take the form of a man. Take your brother's form, perhaps, that could open some doors for you. Do you still remember how to take his form? That was useful in Ruuan Weld that one time…"

"Sabel." Her palms sweated. "You're making me anxious. I'm paranoid enough of being jumped without you helping."

His hand touched her shoulder. "I am sorry. I don't mean to make you fearful." He glanced at the eggs. "Best come away before one hatches."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know you can."

But his face, when he glanced back at the eggs as the two of them moved away, looked as troubled as Samia felt.

For years, she'd had a powerful dragon at her back. She'd had the protection of a creature that could snap any enemy of hers like a twig. He'd given her shelter at the Circle of Blood, taught her about his own kind, tried to teach her the magic of the shaman, which she'd barely been able to grasp. She'd never had to be afraid when he was there.

But now, for the first time in years, she would truly be alone. And if she got in trouble, there would be no Sabellian to save her.

-o-O-o-

Serinar still hadn't returned from wherever he'd gone. The fact that Nalice had not only scattered his pile of garbage but started hiding parts of it showed that Onyxia wasn't the only person annoyed by this.

Onyxia stared at Nalice as the younger dragon kicked sand over the hilt of a broken dagger. When Nalice noticed her there she suddenly straightened up, scowling.

"What," said Onyxia, "are you doing?"

"Digging?" said Nalice. "You do know what that is, do you not?"

"Since when do you care how clean a place is?"

"I don't?"

"Why, then?"

"When Serinar comes back he will be annoyed his pile of trash is gone," said Nalice. "He will not rest until it is all recovered and every piece is put back in the _exact_ place it was before." She nodded at the disturbed sand at her feet. "That dagger was right on top of the pile, and it will be again, mark my words. He is very _specific_."

"What is the point of hiding it?" said Onyxia.

"To spite him," said Nalice. "Why else?"

"And I suppose the fact it would keep him here longer as he searches for his trinkets would have nothing to do with it?"

Nalice's snort was a little _too_ loud. "Of course not."

"You expect Serinar to be absent often, then?" said Onyxia.

"You may be dead, but please recall that none of us have eaten in quite some time," said Nalice. "If we were mortal, to put it very simply: we'd be dead of starvation. I don't doubt he is hunting, what bothers me is why he is taking so long and how he thinks he can do this without arousing suspicion."

"Perhaps he has been caught." Onyxia frowned.

"If he is dead, I will kill him." Nalice glared at Onyxia. "He is not weak. After all, _I _don't have questionable taste in consorts."

Onyxia begged to differ, and ignored the jab. Instead, she chose one of her own. "Is that true? Because _I_ was under the impression choosing a consort who only chose you out of _spite_ wasn't 'good taste.'"

Nalice's glower worsened. "Are you _honestly_ bringing a two-thousand-year-old rumour back from the dead?"

"It's floated around forever, Nalice," said Onyxia.

Nalice snorted. "My mother liked to flatter herself by believing Serinar chose me over her simply to make her jealous. What a self centred bitch."

"So it's not true, then?"

"Where _is_ that idiot dragonsworn?" said Nalice. "I loathe that girl, why did I ever choose her? You know what, Onyxia, I think I shall have her go on a scavenger hunt and rebuild Serinar's little pile _in the wrong order_."

Onyxia decided it was best to play along. "It is only natural that such an atrocity must be corrected immediately upon his return."

"That ought to annoy him more than merely hiding it all. After all, he could simply follow my trail and sniff it all out. Perhaps it would anger him to have the mortal touch it, too?" Nalice brightened. "Yes, I like this idea."

If purification ever came, Onyxia thought as Nalice flounced away, it would be curious to see if her interactions with Serinar would change at all.

Still, Serinar's extended absence worried her somewhat. What was the point in dragging Sabel all this way to help keep them hidden if Serinar was only going to be gone all the time? The fact that Nalice was still here (and trying to make him as angry as possible on his return) was evidence enough that she either expected — or fervently hoped — his return would be soon, and nobody knew Serinar like Nalice did. Still, it niggled at Onyxia as she plopped herself back down on the altar. On the shore, Saya sat alone, building castles out of sand with her notebook beside her, seemingly unconcerned. When she casually destroyed it with a fireball, Onyxia arched an eyebrow.

That child was _odd_. So much for Blackblood, weren't they supposed to be much more violent than this? Then again, Onyxia supposed that being Bronzeblood meant that the girl would have to have a lot more patience than an average Blackblood, in order to cope with constantly shifting times and perspectives.

She considered sitting down with the child. To play, perhaps, although she seemed happy alone. Still, mortals tended to interact with their children more than dragons did and Onyxia had only the two of them left. Bolvar's daughter or not — she ignored the pang in her chest that came from thinking of the human — the child would want attention.

A clatter echoed from one of the passages. Onyxia snapped upright just on time for Eduard Von Andorhal to stumble in, tossing his head.

_What are you still doing here?_ he barked at Onyxia._ Indigosa's waiting!_

"Where is she?" Onyxia rose from the altar.

"At the entrance to Sholazar," said Eduard aloud. "It's almost a two day walk, what are you — ?" Eduard shook his head. "Pardon, pardon lady, I remember now I did not tell — I am _so_ used to people knowing their way around Northrend, forgive me. The lady Samia must be retrieved immediately and brought to the western entrance, the one at Sholazar, for Indigosa to deliver her to Valgarde. There is no time to waste, she is going to be late!"

"Stay here," said Onyxia.

She fetched the exhausted-looking Sabellian and his bemused dragonsworn from the western caverns, and returned to find Eduard pressing his hands to the side of his head and whimpering.

"Von Andorhal?" said Onyxia, stepping closer.

"I'm fine," he whispered. "That is, lady, thank you for your concern but I am alright. The Steward is beginning to awake, which is why I came personally, I did not want to alert him... now that we are late I will have to keep him under for longer, which may not serve us well. Shh, shh... he will not remember but I must soothe him before he wakes further... shh..."

Samia came in at a run, and stumbled to a stop beside Onyxia. She stared at Eduard as the undead began to pace back and forth, muttering and shushing and soothing. "What is he doing?"

"Attempting to calm the Steward, it seems," said Onyxia. "To lull him back to sleep before he can awaken."

"Makes me wonder," said Samia. "Maybe he's a banshee."

"A banshee?"

"The Steward. Maybe he's actually a she, and she's a banshee." She looked over her shoulder to where Sabellian limped after them, her expression strangely hopeful. "Maybe... could that be possible?"

Sabel hesitated. "It… could be?" He cast a glance at Onyxia, but he looked far from convince.

He knew something. He had to.

"It's not a banshee, is it?" said Onyxia.

Von Andorhal stopped with a shudder, and lowered his arms. "He's asleep again," said Von Andorhal before Sabel could answer. "I hate using magic on him but I had to again. He's done so much for us — " then he flinched. "Right! We must go at once."

"I'm coming," said Sabel. "To see her off."

"So am I," said Onyxia. "We must investigate Sholazar soon for Titanic power sources nonetheless and I will _not_ remain cooped up in here as I did in Stormwind." All the things she could have prevented if only she'd acted... "Von Andorhal, you must remain to keep an eye on my daughter. Please." It was either him or Nalice.

Eduard Von Andorhal looked to Saya, on the beach. "I can do that. In any case, I could not come, I need quiet and calm to keep him under, it's going to get more difficult, and so I cannot accompany you."

"Don't endanger her."

"She is a child, lady, of course I shan't." He pointed west. "Through the biggest passage there. You will not have to fear getting lost, if you follow the main path and do not diverge you will get to Sholazar. The passage narrows in parts, widens in others, keep to it. You should not encounter danger whilst underground. Do not bother with supplies, Indigosa will have plenty for you, Lady Inkling. Now _go_, you may miss the ship as it is!"

-o-O-o-

For a man with a limp, Sabel moved swiftly, but then, he'd had it for thousands of years now and probably thought nothing of it. Onyxia walked alongside him and Samia at a pace brisker than she was used to, but none of them tired. Onyxia didn't even feel the faintest twinge of fatigue.

Strange, how quickly she'd adapted to this state of undeath, how quickly it had become normal.

In places the path was dark and hard to see. Whilst Sabel walked seemingly completely blind, the sight of a dragonspawn was more than enough for Samia to lead them through, kicking aside objects that lay in their path like rocks, or warning them of roots. Every now and then they saw a weapon or an abandoned piece of armour. How many mortals had been here during the Northrend Campaign?

As the caverns grew lighter with the phosphorescence of the fungus that grew on the path and around it, Onyxia noticed the glistening stalactites that hung high above them. Every now and then a drop of water fell on her hood, or her shoulder. She heard the rush of a distant underground river. They stepped down the precarious, steep staircases of the Nerubian cities, and after a while they left it far behind.

The underground world was... interesting. Never before had Onyxia considered that Azjol'Nerub had a rural life, but the further west they went, the more and more they passed what could only be described as farms. They found fences made of roots, in formations far too straight to be naturally grown, and what must have once been rows and rows of fungus now overgrown and choked with webs and spiders, the light they gave vivid and bright. There were dark houses made of stone and metal, abandoned and falling in. A glimpse inside a hut revealed long-dead eggs, their shells dark and cracked, lying in pits inside.

The remnants of the once-great Nerubian empire, now reduced to rubble and the occasional straggler that the Obsidian Dawn had yet to encounter. Would the Black Dragonflight follow their footsteps?

The eggs made Onyxia remember her own children, of their bodies littering the Wyrmbog. The eggs destroyed by the Brotherhood of Cinders. Each and every one dead and gone. If they'd lived... what would have happened? Onyxia clenched her fists. Inkling, before she'd gone through Ironforge with Saya at her heels, had described the Twilight Dragonflight and their origins to Onyxia.

Would her children have only become one of them, eventually?

_No_. She shoved the thought aside. _Of course not. I would have protected them!_

... From Deathwing himself?

He wouldn't have accepted no for an answer.

She pushed the gloomy thoughts aside. Without her body aching or even feeling very bothered by the pace they were setting, it was easy to get lost in thought. Instead she focused on placing one foot in front of the other, the purple tint of her vision (which at first had been fascinating, but had long grown dull and irritating) and the ragged sound of Sabellian's breathing as he strained to keep up with them. Samia sounded tired, but her steps only faltered slightly.

But the pace couldn't be kept up forever. Sabel's exhaustion, and his limp, grew worse. Samia was only young, and tired. She'd only brought a few bare supplies with her; her water was almost gone and she needed to eat, too. Onyxia allowed them to slow down as the caverns around them changed.

They ended up in a massive cavern full of winding paths and bridges, both above and below them. Some of the bridges they passed over were quite narrow. Where once upon a time Onyxia would have been confident, now, acutely aware of her lack of ability to fly, she stepped across them carefully. Sabel was wary of his limp, and Samia tried too hard not to look scared.

Idiot.

Then she heard voices.

The three of them stopped on a bridge that was wider than the rest. At the edge, Onyxia crouched and looked down. A group of mortals walked across the bridge below them.

"If we get lost we will probably never get out of here alive, you realise," a familiar voice said. A woman's. Where had Onyxia heard it before?

"All roads have to lead somewhere," said another. It belonged to a strange creature with horns. It reminded Onyxia of an illustration she'd once seen of Archimonde.

"Draenei," Samia murmured.

But it was the first figure that made Onyxia go cold in spite of the heat enchantment on her clothing. She looked to Sabel and Samia. Both had tensed and exchanged glances.

The draenei held a torch aloft, and beside him walked a female dwarf.

"Aridonna Stoutwell," Onyxia murmured.

The last time Onyxia had seen her had been in the Wyrmbog.

"I don't think it would be possible for _anyone_ to map Azjol'Nerub," said the younger Stoutwell. Where was her irritating aunt? "I think we're lost again. We should stick with the entrances. If we _find_ any."

"As long as the Reds get _something_ I don't think they'd mind," said the draenei. "It's a bit of a relief. I don't want to encounter dragons anyway."

"I hope we can get out."

"Don't want to keep Pheledrae waiting. I wonder how many entrances she has uncovered."

"I was less concerned about keeping her waiting and more concerned about not getting lost and dying in here."

_Who said you have to get lost to die in here?_ thought Onyxia. Her hackles rose on the back of her neck. Hot anger pumped through her like blood, and her fingers slowly turned into claws. Jumping from this height wouldn't hurt her... much. All she'd have to do was land on them and they'd be dead. _Ha_, dead by falling dragon, how amusing. Those _murderers_ deserved an undignified death. She'd hoped she'd taken the worst of them down, but no...

Sabellian's hand clutched her shoulder. She looked to see him shake his head slowly.

Biting back a snarl, Onyxia got up and kept walking. The mortals passed by below, talking of a nightsaber called Alisha, of the long-dead Nerubians and the haunting darkness.

She'd get them. One day. If it wasn't today, so be it, that just gave her something to look forward to. She'd pick off the survivors one by one and make them rue the day they went for her.

Soon enough the voices became distorted in the background and faded away entirely.

But Sabel and Samia were still tired. After more hours of walking with the occasional break for both of them, Sabel's limp had become intolerable and his headaches seemed to torment him. Finally, with the passage wide enough in front of them, Onyxia sighed and shifted. "Get onto my back, both of you," she said. "I'll keep going whilst you sleep."

Samia climbed on without argument, but an exhausted Sabel just eyed his sister. "I won't sleep."

"But you'll rest nonetheless," said Onyxia. "Now shut up and get on."

The caves seemed to stretch on forever, but Eduard was right about one thing; the path never stopped. It diverged in places, but it was difficult to lose the main direction, and even if they seemed to turn around completely in some areas it still seemed they were going west. Onyxia kept walking, quickening her pace now that the living did not need to keep up. She felt Samia dozing against the back of her neck.

Once upon a time it would have felt humiliating to act like a pack mule, but right now, Onyxia couldn't even bring herself to care.

Soon the passage had become too tight for Onyxia to proceed. When that happened, she woke the living and they continued in mortal form. They'd had a few hours of rest by then, at least. With how long the journey was, it was little wonder Serinar had not returned, but they did not encounter him on the way.

And finally, not long after, daylight greeted them.

"At last," said Indigosa as the three of them emerged, blinking and squinting in the sunlight. "You have arrived. I feared you would not come at all, I have waited long for you."

Sometimes, Onyxia thought, the way Indigosa spoke made a Black dragon's speech look normal by mortal standards.

"Miscommunication," she said simply. Samia yawned beside her. "Indigosa, I believe you have supplies?"

"Indeed." The undead woman nudged a pack at her feet. It was quite impressive in size, and looked expensive. "This will last Samia quite some time and even has money for her, enough to buy herself passage to and from the Eastern Kingdoms, and even a little more in case she runs out of sustenance."

_Food_, Onyxia thought irritably. _It's called food._

"We must be swift," said Indigosa.

As she shifted into the form of a frostwyrm, Onyxia looked below. They stood on top of a massive hill that overlooked a sea of green canopies. In the far distance a few pillars of earth rose, bright lights at their peak. Birds shrieked.

"Below us are the Lost Lands," said Indigosa. "It is hard to believe they were dead a year ago, no? But although the pillar that tumbled will never be repaired, the power of the other pylons reached out and once again the trees have taken over. Now…"

Sabel looked to Onyxia. "We should wait to set out until it starts raining. Better to wash away our scent, although we'll have to be careful because leaving physical tracks will be easier."

"This is Northrend," said Samia flatly. "It _doesn't_ rain here." She picked up the pack and heaved it onto her back.

"This is Sholazar." Sabellian's face twitched with a tired smirk. "A _Titan_ made it. It rains and storms quite often here, as a matter of fact thanks to those pylons…" He frowned, peering into the distance. "One is missing."

"I did mention this." Indigosa tapped her claws. "Perhaps we can go?"

"The Titans had to support their creations here somehow," said Sabellian, "and they did it by ruining the local weather patterns. They don't particularly care about this sort of thing."

"Once you are done chatting?" said Indigosa. She folded her front legs in a bow. "On my back, Samia. We must be swift."

"Well, then." Samia climbed onto the back of Indigosa's neck. Samia looked at Onyxia and Sabel. "Goodbye, then."

"You had best have those eggs when you return, Inkling," said Onyxia.

"I will." Samia's eyes were still on Sabel.

Sabel's hesitation made Onyxia frown. "Stay strong," he said.

Anything Samia might have said was snatched away by the wind as Indigosa kicked off the hill and plunged into the abyss. Her wings beat, the frostwyrm twisted in the air in an upwards spiral, and soon enough she circled over them and was gone.

"I wonder how long it will be before she returns," said Sabel.

Onyxia gave Sabel a meaningful look. "_Hmmm_."

"I am going to sleep." Sabel ignored her. "Wake me when it rains. There's little use returning until we've explored here."

"Have you eaten?"

Sabel shook his head. "I'll pick some fruit from the trees," he said. "Sholazar has fruit all over the place. We can't risk hunting, that will leave evidence. That may be what Serinar is doing."

"Then rest," said Onyxia. "I will keep watch."


	52. A Mother's Vengeance

_**Warning:** Chapter contains gore and violence._

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

The great and intriguing mystery as to where Serinar had disappeared to was solved in a relievingly anticlimactic manner.

In the tunnel that overlooked Sholazar, Onyxia leaned against the wall, her arms curled around her knees. Deeper inside she heard Sabellian's deep, sleeping breaths echoing against the stone walls.

And then another sound.

She tensed. Her ears caught the scuffling of dirt, and someone else's breaths. She poked her head half out of the tunnel, and turned one crystal eye on the winding path.

She saw no one in the dim light, but heard muttering. She recognised Serinar's voice and sighed in relief, shaking her head. Where had he _been_?

Less than ten minutes later Serinar made it to the mouth of the tunnel with an arm full of fruit — bananas, oranges, apples, and a few other kinds Onyxia had never seen before. Sholazar wasn't a place the Black Dragonflight had _ever_ frequented, until now.

Onyxia glared at him. He frowned back.

"I thought you wanted Sabellian here for a reason?" said Onyxia. "If you insist on going out and leaving tracks everywhere, that does not help us."

"It was necessary to recover food," said Serinar. "Do you think Sabellian has taught me _nothing_ of how to cover my tracks? He has his uses."

At least Serinar had the sense not to hunt in dragon form. "Sabellian hasn't eaten," said Onyxia. "He's farther in, sleeping. Are you going to give some to him?"

"No," said Serinar, then continued down the tunnel.

Onyxia frowned as the darkness swallowed him.

_Typical._

Still, it was worrying. Would he insist on coming and going like this _all_ the time? What if he was spotted? Recognised?

Onyxia huffed.

Night fell in less than an hour. Even at this time of year with the height of summer encroaching, the beacons of Sholazar did little to hold back the darkness. The air grew heavy. Rumbling clouds blotted out the skies.

She waited.

When the downpour began, she woke Sabel.

For her trouble, he growled and snapped at her, his jaws clicking in the air as she smoothly stepped aside. She sighed.

"For someone so gentle," she said, "you are quite violent when half asleep."

He blinked away the drowsiness as recognition crept into his eyes, and his form shrunk. Instead of Baron Sablemane, he took the form of an undead man in leather armour. Onyxia hadn't seen this one before.

"Right." Sabel tilted his head to listen to the rain. "Time to head off whilst we still have time, there's no telling how long the rain will stay. If any mortals come across us it would make more sense to avoid being recognised. The mercenaries learned Baron Sablemane's face well in Outland. Now..." He turned towards the entrance. "Let's go. This will be difficult, in this darkness, but there's so little light at this time of year. We will have to be even more careful."

"You are the one good at hiding," said Onyxia. "Lead the way. I believe the Maker's Overlook is nearby?"

As both dragons stepped into the rain, Onyxia turned her head south. Not far away dark shapes jutted from the cliff's face. Already the rising mist and the rain threatened to obscure them.

"We will have to fly there," said Sabel, shifting back again. Onyxia found herself pressed against a wall to accomodate the dragon hogging the ledge. "There's no way up, otherwise. But since it's dark it's safe to fly." He paused. "Well. Relatively. Of course, I may miscalculate and collide with the wall and break my leg _again_ — "

"Shut up and carry me."

Without a word Sabel bowed his head. After Onyxia climbed onto his back, he kicked off.

It took less than half a minute to alight on the deserted platform outside of the Maker's Overlook. It held his weight well. Instead of the uneven ground outside of the passage to Icecrown, smooth, stone tiles lay underfoot. Puddles already formed at her feet. She drew her hood over her wet hair, grateful for the enchanted warmth, as Sabel turned back into a Forsaken.

"We won't be able to hide our tracks in here." Sabel's voice echoed as he stepped through the massive archway ahead of them. Onyxia followed, her boots tapping on the tiles. "The air is so still in here our scent will be here forever. Still, it is a risk we must take, it's impossible to hide completely. Part of hiding, sometimes, is misdirection. I wonder if I can employ that later..."

As her brother rambled, Onyxia took in their surroundings. The ceiling stretched high above them, painted with winged, naked children. Wyrmrest Temple had those same paintings on its ceiling; nobody knew what the children were or what they represented.

"Oh," said Sabel.

Onyxia stopped.

Ahead of them lay the remains of a construct. Pieces of its plating had been pried from its body, revealing empty innards. "It's been gutted," Sabel murmured. "Of crystals... the crystals that make it function. So that's why there aren't any constructs here... come to think of it, I haven't seen any Titan sentries, either. You know, those big orbs?"

"There's one." Onyxia pointed to the side of the room. A huge orb, the Titan sentry, lay on the ground. Its golden light was dead and gone, leaving it as pretty as a rock. "Mercenaries. Who _else_ would be so careless here?"

"Or the Explorer's League." Sabel's face was thunderous. "They insist on digging up everything they go."

"Or both." Didn't the Explorer's League employ mercenaries too?

Sabel picked up his pace, his footsteps echoing against the muffled backdrop of the pouring rain. Outside, behind them, lightning flashed. "Let's hope they've left something for us."

"I doubt it." Onyxia clenched a fist as thunder cracked. "They ruin everything they encounter. They eat their way through the wilderness like an army of ants and leave nothing in their wake but extinction and destruction."

As they walked down the corridor they passed more defunct constructs and sentries. One sentry was half-cannibalised, leaving only a dome behind. Some crystals were scattered across the ground beside a dissected, rusted construct. And in the final chamber...

"Nothing," said Sabel. "There's nothing left for us here."

A massive metal box that looked as if it had once housed something mechanical had been given the same treatment as the constructs. A single red button lay on the ground on its side, abandoned. Someone had left wires half-yanked out of the metal case. All the other metal parts, Onyxia noticed, were gone. Not even a spark of magic or electricity remained.

"Engineers," said Sabel. "Cannibalising. Whether for supplies or to fund the Northrend campaign, or whether they were mercenaries too cheap to buy from their own quartermasters, we'll never know. Before the Scourge came, Northrend was untouched and full of Titanic ruins, but now... now, I wonder, if we'll ever find that power source, or if any potential lead has been stripped from us by their greed. It wouldn't surprise me if Ulduar itself had been ransacked."

Onyxia picked up the button. It was a simple metal case, painted red, and the contraption that would have once connected the button its base was gone.

Those greedy, destructive _fools_. Just about _every_ problem on Azeroth could be blamed on mercenaries.

Or Old Gods.

"Brann Bronzebeard, I heard, was responsible for the investigation into Titanic ruins," said Sabel. "I didn't hear much about him in Outland, although I came across the occasional follower in his footsteps wanting to dig up old orc ruins, and they mentioned him. He relied on the mercenary class to do his work for him. Good for Bronzebeard, bad for us."

"So we need to find something _they_ haven't found first."

"I'm afraid that would be the only way," said Sabel, as Onyxia placed the button back down on the casing. "But they've ferreted through every nook and cranny of Northrend. It won't be easy."

"What about the beacons?" said Onyxia. "I cannot think of a way to tap into their power, but surely they are worth examining, if nothing else."

"The Lifeblood Pillar is nearby," said Sabel. "Although I do recall Indigosa mentioning it had been destroyed, too..."

"What, mercenaries again?"

"I doubt it, mercs like to _pretend_ to do good and that's too idiotic even for _them_," said Sabel. "A dead pylon wouldn't be of any use to us, nonetheless. What are the closest pillars aside from Lifeblood?"

Onyxia paused. "To the south west. Skyreach? I don't recall."

"And it's beside a river, too." Sabel paused in thought. "All the better to cover our tracks. Although, we cannot know how long this rain will last, so we must be swift. Let's go."

There was little point remaining in the befouled Maker's Reach. The Obsidian Dawn had a job to do. With another quick flight Sabel returned them to the ledge by the tunnel, and they made their way down the slope. The canopy of trees that had overtaken the Lost Lands within the last year were already too thick to land in; they'd have to go in on foot.

"Step on rocks," said Sabel as they descended. Onyxia leapt from stone to stone with little trouble, but with Sabel's limp he had more trouble, pausing every other moment to stop himself toppling. "Scent washes off easier, and it doesn't leave footprints. There will always be scent left behind, but it's the best method."

His instructions continued as they descended into the main basin and made their way through the foliage. "Mind the branches, don't touch the leaves. There's not always rocks, so if you can't step on a rock, try a root or a dead tree trunk instead. Be careful where you step, though — step in leaves and you'll break them and leave a trail, step on the wrong spot in a dead trunk and your foot will leave an impression on the rot, if it doesn't break the wood, and you don't want to slip in moss. Avoid mud at all costs. Even if it's deep enough to wade in and not leave any footprints, you'll track mud everywhere when it stops raining."

But the Basin wasn't a stony place in general. When proceeding west confronted them with nothing but more trees with hanging vines and mud, Sabel sighed.

"Alright," he said. "Tracks are inevitable, but when you are forced to leave them, you at least be smart about it." He looked over his shoulder at Onyxia. "Keep your footsteps in my tracks. If anyone follows us, it'll make it harder to tell how many of us there are. And by Galakrond, don't slip!"

Onyxia knew better than to argue with her brother. He was, after all, the expert here. She felt uncomfortable every time her boot sank into mud, knowing that every awkwardly-placed footprint was another for the Red Flight to follow. They'd recognise Sabel's limp from the tracks, but he'd have a harder time following her prints than she with his.

In the darkness he manoevered around enormous flowers. Each petal, spread across the ground like a trap, could have easily been six feet long, and in the centre of each one lay a murky pool from which drifted a faint purfume. Some flowers had closed, she saw, sticking up in the air like small towers, taller than a human.

"Carnivorous plants?" she called over the rain.

"Their nectar makes good acid," said Sabel. "Touching it will burn you, but at least the wound will smell good."

"Curious."

"Let's feed one. Any suggestions for victims? I volunteer Nalice."

Onyxia snorted in amusement. "Forget Nalice. What do we do if the rain stops while we are gone?"

"We'll hide and return when the next rain comes," said Sabel. "It rains every day. We cannot risk leaving a trail back to Naz'anak."

Which meant Eduard Von Andorhal would have to spend longer still keeping the Steward under. Onyxia clucked at the thought. What would she do about her daughter after Eduard was gone and they had to make another expedition into Sholazar? They'd be lucky if this was the only one. Somehow, she didn't think it would be as easy as taking a look at the pylons.

She'd figure it out when the time came.

As they passed the trees, occasionally Sabellian pulled off a piece of fruit, munching as they went. He didn't bother unwrapping the fruit, eating their skins with them.

He wouldn't risk leaving _any_ waste behind them.

As they proceeded deeper into the basin it became apparent that coming this way may have been a mistake. The rain lightened, until it was featherlight on the canopy above them. The water that once poured through slowed into steady trickles. Sabel sighed as he stepped onto a rock at the shore of the river. "At least we made it to the water," he said. "We'll have to wade from here. Again, make sure you don't touch any of the plants... Water's the safest way to travel when there's no rain. Gets the mud off, too."

"It's not as if I can get any wetter," said Onyxia.

The moment she stepped into the river, she skidded into Sabel and knocked him into the water.

"Be careful of the moss." He sighed, climbing to his feet. Onyxia stood with her legs apart, wobbling on the spot like a whelp in mortal form for the first time. "Wading through a river is challenging. At best."

"I noticed. The underground rivers weren't as slippery."

"There wasn't any moss there," said Sabel. "Come."

With Sabel's limp and the river's current, he took his time moving forward. Onyxia felt secretly relieved; no rush meant she was less likely to skid on the moss-covered stones underneath her feet. The water dragged at her knees, making her pants cling to her legs, and every step felt precarious. Walking on ice was easier. More than once she cursed and fell into the river.

For this, she allowed herself a moment of silent gratitude that it was Sabellian who was with her, and not Nalice. Then again, to watch Nalice slip and slide in the river... smirking, Onyxia pulled herself up with a rock, just in time to see Sabel shoot her a glare over her shoulder.

Oh, right. She pulled her hand from the boulder, too aware of the scent she'd left on it that she couldn't smell. Still, if that was the only patch of scent in hundreds of yards, if not a few miles by now, there must be nothing to worry about.

Naturally, she was wrong.

Ten minutes later, Sabel paused the second after Onyxia did, painfully aware of the sudden silence in the forest. "There's someone here," she murmured. Sabel didn't answer.

"We may not be leaving much of a trail," Sabel murmured, "but we are still making noise."

"I doubt it's Reds. We'll be mistaken for Forsaken."

"That is why I took this form, but it's best we are not seen at all," said Sabel. "Forsaken are still enemies of the Alliance, and after their attack on the Wrathgate I wouldn't be surprised if other members of the Horde were… unfriendly. But you cannot pass as anything _else_."

Ah, yes, the Wrathgate, the only thing that had stopped Bolvar Fordragon from meeting justice at the claws of the Black Flight.

Far away behind them Onyxia heard a splash, and the snuffling of an animal.

"Hunter," said Onyxia. "A native animal wouldn't make a noise, so it must have a mortal with it."

"We must assume the worst. Assume they're tracking us."

"Paranoia has kept you alive thus far, brother, so I shall not argue."

Sabellian waded picked up a branch from the shore. "Now is not the time for pride," he said, leaning on it. "We must pick up our pace."

Sabellian's limp made using a branch an easy decision for _him_, but Onyxia picked one up, too, the next time she caught one trapped in the gurgling water against a boulder. She shoved it into the spaces between the rocks in the water, leaning on it to keep herself steady as they kept going, her grip tightening every time her feet threatened to slip. Sabel struggled with his limp.

He sniffed the air again as the wind changed. "Night elf," he said. "And a cat. Perhaps a nightsaber. The — " He paused. "Yes, the scent's familiar. Pheledrae, Brotherhood of Cinders, I met her in Blade's Edge more than a few times."

"You're _joking_." Suddenly, turning around was appealing. "Why don't we wait for her and get rid of her?"

Sabellian shot her another glare. "Oh yes, we've come _this_ far painstakingly cover our tracks, why not trash it with the _worst_ possible evidence to leave?"

"Then we feed her to the plants!"

"_No_."

Onyxia snarled. Sabel stumbled, wincing as his right leg, withered even in other forms, threatened to buckle from underneath him. "Survival is more important than revenge," he said.

"Pheledrae, you said?" Fine. Two missed opportunities. Perhaps Onyxia would get lucky the third time. Her voice was sharp as she spoke. "Who is she?"

"Yes, Pheledrae," said Sabellian. "The nightsaber is Alisha. She's an officer in the Brotherhood of Cinders, and she was with them before the Wyrmbog Massacre. You may have even met her, or at least seen her."

Had there been a night elf during the confrontation at Stormwind Keep? Hmm... yes, Onyxia thought she could recall one. Short purple hair. "She had a wolf at the time."

"The wolf's Naeranyr. Night elves don't like wolves as much as they like their cats. I did put some study into this a long time ago, and arrived to the conclusion that it must be because of — "

"This is fascinating, but perhaps we should shut up?"

Sabellian cast another glance over his shoulder. "I'm not hearing her as clearly. Still, we must be quiet..."

It was likely she lost the scent. Still, she'd only need common sense to follow the river.

"… Silence will be our friend here. Night elven ears are quite keen, and a nightsaber's is keener still. A nightsaber's vision may even be able to penetrate the gloom — "

"_Sabel_."

"Sorry."

The Skyreach Pillar loomed in the sky to the south west, glowing in the rain, but Onyxia and Sabellian went north towards the heart of Sholazar. It was no matter; the river turned around after the heart, but it would mean a longer journey. Still, it was better to be slow and steady than make a fatal mistake in a rush...

They left the sounds of the hunter far behind them.

Eventually, they heard voices instead.

"I never thought we'd get out of there."

"Next time, let's _not_ wander into Azjol'nerub without a map."

"When do you think Phel's going to get here?"

Sabel stopped, hissing under his breath. Onyxia went still.

"Bad luck," Sabel snarled, his voice almost silent. "Why is Sholazar so _lively_ today? — Onyx? Damn it, Onyx!"

Onyx stepped carefully onto the stones on the bank. Her anger ran hot and silent, renewed.

_Finally_. How lucky it was for her to meet them again…

The jungle around her felt loud as it clouded about her ears. Screaming insects to the south, the shriek of birds all around her, what sounded like a roar from a wild cat to the east. The dripping of water. The rush of the river.

In the clearing ahead, beside the mouth of a cave that Onyxia could barely pick out behind a gnarled tree and a few carnivorous flowers, two members of the Brotherhood of Cinders sat around a dead campfire. Aridonna Stoutwell knelt beside a heap of branches, striking a shard of metal against flint over and over.

"It's no use," she said. "It's soaked."

"I'm sure Phel will be able to find us just fine," said the draenei. He crossed his massive arms and sat back on a rock. He was dressed in fine chain mail, Onyxia saw. A shaman, then? He had no animal with him.

Sabel's hand gripped her shoulder but Onyxia shook it off, prowling closer. She heard him growl behind her. "_Onyxia!_"

The pair were upwind of her, and unaware. The racket the rest of the forest made hid the sound of the twig that snapped underneath Onyxia's squelching boot. The younger Stoutwell sat back on her haunches, glaring at the wet wood. Onyxia's form rippled, until her hands darkened and her body widened, enough to make her clothing tight.

It wouldn't do to be recognised as Katrana Prestor if either survived, after all.

Which, of course, they wouldn't.

The dwarf didn't see what hit her, and yelped as a fireball impacted right in the chest, sending her stumbling back. She scrabbled for her axe. "Horde!" she called out as her eyes found Onyxia. She charged towards her, screaming. "You undead scum!"

"Oh, shut up." Onyxia whirled away from the axe and around to grab Aridonna by the throat as her fingers sharpened into claws. They dug into the skin, and blood bubbled and trickled down the dwarf's neck. Onyxia lifted her with a hand as the draenei watched in horror. Aridonna's face contorted with agony.

Behind her, Sabellian swore, but Onyxia barely noticed. All she felt was the beat of Aridonna Stoutwell's heart, her pulse flowing through Onyxia's fingers, thrumming in fear.

Onyxia yanked. Blood spewed everywhere as she tore out the dwarf's throat. Aridonna fell to the ground. She gurgled and slumped as her blood mixed with the mud.

A zap of electricity from the draenei proved easy enough to dodge. A burst of fire from Onyxia hit him in the face and sent him reeling. In another instant Onyxia picked up Stoutwell's discarded axe and drove it straight into the centre of his chest.

She heard the bone crack underneath her strength. The draenei struggled to breathe. She yanked the axe out once again and hacked at his neck.

It took a few blows before his head separated from his body. Shame. She thought Aridonna Stoutwell would keep her axe sharper than that.

"_Titans fucking damn you, Onyxia, that was the stupidest shit I've ever seen you _— "

"I wonder why draenei blood is purple?"

The ploy worked. "Actually it's blue, it only appears purple because of your eyes — " but only for a moment. "_Damn it, Onyxia, don't distract me! What the hell were you thinking?"_

"Blue, you say?" said Onyxia. "Why would that be?"

She watched her brother struggle between his short-of-attention-span scholar half and the half that threatened to explode in rage. Unfortunately, the angry part won. "We can't leave a trail!" he barked at her. "Do you _want_ to get us all killed?"

Onyxia picked up the dead dwarf by the arm and dragged her onto a massive, yellow petal. The body slid on the surface and into the pool. Onyxia stumbled back as the petals snapped like a sprung trap. "There, you see?" She said. "No evidence."

"I suppose the blood on the ground doesn't count?" came Sabel's sarcastic voice. "Or were you going to lick it up?"

"Where's another plant?" Onyxia looked around. "Ah, there."

"Remember there is still a night elf behind us!"

"I'm sure I can find a third plant."

"No, Onyxia. _No_," said Sabel. "Missing people means the guild _will_ come looking for them, and if they were going to meet the night elf here then obviously the guild knows they were here. They will look, and they _will_ find tracks, and they _will_ have another shaman summon their spirits to tell them — "

"What?" said Onyxia, kicking the draenei into another plant. This plant looked rather fat when its petals closed over its prize. "That a couple of Forsaken attacked them?" She gestured to Sabel's undead form, and then her own. "I _am_ intelligent enough not to confront someone in the form of Katrana Prestor. Or didn't you notice I look like a native of Tanaris now?" She gestured with her dark hands. "We should wait for the huntress."

Sabel's scowl deepened. He grunted.

"Besides," said Onyxia. "Spirits move on instantly, don't they? I do not see ghosts. So they will not have heard this exchange, correct? Or every mystery in the world could be solved by asking the spirits."

"No." Sabel's shoulders sagged. "Only ghosts remain, and those are easy to spot. No, they will not have heard us, that I can guarantee." He sighed. "We should be above this. This is pointless vengeance."

Onyxia shrugged. "The female was present at my death. The male happened to be in the way. Now, the huntress — "

"Fine," said Sabel. "It's probably even more dangerous to leave her alive."

The sky rumbled. The heavens opened up once again.

"We've spent enough time out here," said Sabel. "Once the huntress is dead, we had best go around and return the long way just in case we leave a trail. We have to lose anyone who might follow it." He shook his head. "Onyx, I..."

"What?" Onyxia crossed her arms. "They deserved it."

"But do _we_?" said Sabel. "The living need you more than the dead need their vengeance."

"I don't see the harm."

"Slippery slope, Onyxia. Once you get in the habit, it's a hard thing to stop."

Onyxia didn't bother arguing with him. Instead, she lay in wait for the huntress.

Once Pheledrae and Alisha were dead — a task accomplished easily, and with less gore — she made sure to find plants for them before she and Sabel moved on.

-o-O-o-

The Skyreach Pillar revealed nothing. Sabel risked a transformation and flew Onyxia to the top in darkness, where they spent several minutes staring at the pylon that floated above them, surrounded by glowing blue crystals.

"Now what?" said Onyxia.

Sabel looked at as much of a loss as Onyxia felt, and now she had to face facts: short of 'find a Titanic power source', they had no plan. What could they _do_ with it? Even if they could obtain the power somehow, how would they charge the Eye of the Watchers?

Onyxia said, "Perhaps if we bring the Eye of the Watchers here and expose it to the pylon..."

"That won't charge it." Sabel peered at the crystals at his feet. "The pylons were designed to alter the weather and protect the basin. You'd have to alter them, somehow, to be able to draw from the power. The Titans would make sure that their inventions didn't steal each others' powers accidentally."

Great. Onyxia rubbed her head. Sabel hesitated, before he broke a large blue crystal off its cluster.

"Rather delicate, considering," he said, holding up the crystal. The rain plastered his hair to his face. "I wonder if we can do something with these. It may be worth some research."

"It's better than nothing," said Onyxia.

_Lady_, said a voice in her head.

_Von Andorhal?_ she answered. _I thought it was too risky to speak like this?_

_Where are you?_ said Von Andorhal. _Please return soon. I cannot hold him back much longer._

_We are still in Sholazar._

_Please return soon._

Von Andorhal sounded on the brink of panic. _What is wrong?_ said Onyxia.

_I cannot keep him under forever, you must understand, lady. If I go on for much longer he will realise what I am doing. Come quickly. — My lord. Shh. There is no emergency, you seem quite tired. No, Ner'zhul hasn't done anything, the Old Gods are silent, there is nothing wrong..._

As Von Andorhal's soothings of the Steward faded from her mind, Onyxia frowned. Aloud, she said, "Ner'zhul?"

Sabel looked up.

"Von Andorhal spoke to me," she said. "As he calmed the Steward I heard mentions of Ner'zhul…"

Sabel pressed a fist to his mouth. "What context?"

Onyxia repeated Eduard's words. "You told me the Lich King was _dead_."

"I had… suspicions," Sabel admitted. "Suspicions that it was only Arthas who died. Suspicions that the mantle of the Lich King may have had to be passed on because — "

"Because otherwise killing the undead would be difficult." Onyxia paused. "The Helm of Domination is the source of the Lich King's power, is it not? With someone wearing the Helm they would know the location of every single undead on Azeroth, and it would make it easy to corral what's left of the Scourge and have them all killed." She stopped, again. "Every undead. _Every single undead_."

"Excepting the Forsaken," said Sabel. "They shrugged off the Lich King's power long ago."

"But not me." She looked back to Sabel. "I never had the opportunity to become immune to that power. The Steward _is_ the Lich King, that must be how he detected me the moment I became undead, that must be how he had the power to manipulate me! _Me_!"

By the _Titans_. "We must return to Naz'anak immediately," said Onyxia. "We shall bring a few crystals back to study. Von Andorhal cannot keep him under for much longer. And — " She paused. "Wait. The Lich King…"

She remembered, now. She had had realisations in Drak'Tharon, realisations he'd erased from her mind — the realisation that the Steward and the Lich King were the same entity?

Or something worse?

Sabel snapped a few more crystals from their clusters, wincing every time he looked at the jagged stumps he left.

"He would have to be someone highly trusted," said Onyxia. "Someone the Lich King's enemies _knew_ would not go mad from the power and abuse it. Someone with a strong…" Why was it hard to breathe? She didn't need to breathe, she was _dead_. "… someone with a strong resistance to the Helm's mind control, perhaps from…" She looked up to her brother, who shoved some crystals in the pockets of his leather pants without looking at her. "… previous experience. Someone who would have nothing to lose because everyone already thought he was dead…"

"Indeed." Sabel frowned at the crystal in his hand.

"What happened to the forces at the Wrathgate who died?"

"The bodies were burned, Onyxia." Only then did Sabel look at her. "All of them. You have nothing to fear."

"I'm not _afraid_." Relief seeped into her. "Well, we have _some_ fortune, after all. Will you be able to banish those crystals to the Nether with your clothing?"

Sabel shifted in front of her, gazing down at the prints his claws left. "No such thing as no evidence left whatsoever," he muttered. "If only. Yes, I could banish the crystals. Let's go."

"Are you certain that obtaining the Eye of the Watchers early won't...?"

"We'll try it as a last resort," said Sabel. "There's several pylons. If we figure out how to make one leak… let's leave. I don't think this shower will last long."

-o-O-o-

On the return journey to Naz'anak, they passed Serinar once again. "How long has it been since you _slept_?" said Onyxia, as she saw him approach.

"Who do you think you are, _Nalice?_" Serinar gave her a strange look. "I'm hunting. Go away."

"You better not get us found out."

"I don't intend on it," said Serinar, his robes rustling. "I shall scout as well, I do not know the Basin. Goodbye."

When Onyxia returned to Naz'anak at last, at the end of the long hike, Sabel stopped and sniffed the air. "Something's died," he said. "And been cremated."

The Purging. Onyxia drew in a sharp breath.

The ceiling of the breeding cave was uncomfortably low. Nalice stood in the centre, staring into space. Ash lay scattered at her feet. As Onyxia looked around, she noticed broken eggshells and one tiny, injured whelp licking its wounds, eyeing a sibling warily.

Sabel sighed.

Nalice turned to look at them. "You are back, I see." Some of the colour had returned to her cheeks. "Von Andorhal departed an hour ago, he said it was urgent. Never fear, your _rat_ is safe. I know better than to bite the hand that feeds me. Or, in this case, eat the young of the one who hides me. Unfortunately, Serinar has the same sentiment."

Saya. Onyxia had barely thought of her in the last few days. She looked around the cavern, took in the ash... "Why didn't you try to stop them from hurting each other?"

"How?" said Nalice. "Half a dozen hatched. I cannot hold _all_ of them." She gestured to the pair of whelps that were still alive and on opposite ends of the cavern, glaring at each other. One had nasty scratches down the side of its face. "And besides, if we are going to repopulate, we had best do it with the strongest."

"Oh yes," Sabel drawled. "Because the 'survival of the fittest' policy served us _so_ well in the past. Are you even _trying_ to fight the Old Gods?"

"I do wonder, though." Nalice's hands were smudged with ash. She brushed them off on her front. "How will the decoy will prove its strength. Although if it is magically strong, perhaps it does not need to." She gave a shrug. "I should hope Inkling returns soon."

Didn't she _care_ her children were dead? Their ash had been smeared across her hands. Onyxia watched her accusingly as Nalice plopped herself down on a rock, looking bored. "We cannot allow them to slaughter each other!" said Onyxia.

"Well, if you should find a way to stop them, please enlighten me," said Nalice.

Onyxia grit her jaw and gazed around. "Are you going to help it?" She gestured to the whelpling with the scratches across its face. "If it gets infected it will die!"

"And?" said Nalice. "Why should I care?"

"They're your _children_!"

"And?" said Nalice again, arching her eyebrows. "Obsidian children die all the time, Onyxia. It is our way."

"It shouldn't have to be, _you know better_."

"Oh, spare me." Nalice sighed. "What was the point in resurrecting her, Sabellian?"

But Sabel was crouched over the injured whelpling. The whelpling's jaws latched onto Sabel's wrist, but he didn't seem to notice as he straightened up once again, examining the whelp's face closely. The whelpling gnawed at his arm, and blood trickled across Sabel's skin. "I'll fix it," said Sabel. "There's some potions in Samia's pack I brewed in case she was to become wounded."

"Do remember that there is a much bigger whelp in the main cavern," said Nalice. "Just because Jettion is your child, Onyxia, does not mean he has any less inherent violence. Remember that your children died, too."

"How can I forget?"

"I don't speak of Bolvar Fordragon," said Nalice. She yawned, tossing her gaze about lazily as Sabel limped out with the whelpling still attached to his arm and growling. "You are my father's age, are you not? How many broods have you had?" She tilted her head. "Since we come into fertility every twenty years or so, that's five times a century. Assuming you were pregnant at least three times a century, that makes thirty clutches a millennium... three hundred times, roughly. Likely you did not have many for your first millennium, so not quite that. And how many children survive past whelphood? Only a fraction, I think."

"And?"

Nalice shrugged. "Once upon a time you were as keen on the Purging's purpose as the rest of the Flight is. You are no saint, Onyxia. Do not preach to me about what is _right_. Every Broodmother wants the strongest of their children to survive. Your children killed each other as newborns, and you _enjoyed_ it."

Onyxia growled, low in her throat.

"And I hear no protests." Nalice raised her hands. "So that is done. Do not preach to me, Onyxia. You _disgust_ me."

"No more than you do me, I assure you."

"I care not for your opinion." Nalice yawned. "I should hope the decoy is stronger than its brothers and sisters, with the magic it inherited, else I would be disappointed. What a waste of ability."

Onyxia snarled. Hot fury ran through her. _A strong dragon shows its dominance. A strong dragon doesn't allow an inferior to sass them. A strong dragon would break her _neck_ for what she is saying — _

No. She shoved the Old Gods' whispers away and, instead, she turned and stormed from the cavern.

_She is right_, said the Old Gods. _You did enjoy it when the Purgings took place, when your children died, for all those centuries and millennia. You smiled, to think that the strongest would grow to become even stronger._

_After all, we were there. We remember._

_Don't you?_

* * *

_**ETA:** FF dot net just ate my author's note, so I'm sticking this down here instead. It's been glitching, so pardon if any words are smooshed together or whatnot - it's not my end, swear to god._

_Thank you to **Diloph** and **Coincidencless** for being my betas!_

_Updates will now be back to weekly. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, and everyone who's been patient whilst I got my shit together. It's good to be back._


	53. Company

_**Error correction: **Oh, hell. There was an error in the last chapter - originally Eduard had alluded to Ner'zhul being alive in the last chapter, but one of my betas pointed out to me that Ner'zhul had apparently died in one of the novels. Which I didn't know because I hadn't read it. (Yay for most of Blizzard lore not actually happening in the game?) I "fixed" it and put it up, but not long afterwards I remembered that one of my reviewers had mentioned something similar, and went, "Why would they have pointed that out unless... oh, crap."_

_Yeah, I'd been writing Ner'zhul as alive and totally forgot I had._

_The chapter's been edited. Ner'zhul is alive because of rippling effects of Hora's time travel shenanigans? IDK. "It's an AU" is pretty much my equivalent of "because a wizard did it."_

_I don't like this chapter, at all. I've lately had trouble with the writer's block from hell for weeks, and I've only just crawled out of it at last. So sorry._

_Thank you to **Coincidencless** for looking at this chapter for me! And sorry for being late once again._

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

Fruit, it turned out, was the best way to keep Saya occupied. Sabel steadily fed her oranges and apples, and the girl fed upon them as if they were sweets. "I don't often get fruit," she said, when Onyxia arched an eyebrow. "I get sick of meat."

Saya's rations didn't include meat, but no Bronzeblood ever made sense.

As Saya munched on an apple, Onyxia sat on a boulder beside the altar, using it as a stone desk. One of the blue crystals lay on the surface, with Onyxia's skeletal fingers drumming beside it.

The amount of children that died at the hands of the Brotherhood paled in comparison to the legions of those who died in the Purging. To the legions whose deaths she'd _celebrated_ as "strengthening the Dragonflight."

No. She had to focus. Now was not the time to dwell on Nalice's words. She had a crystal to examine. She picked up the gem in question.

She was interrupted by Sabel as he sat on the altar. "Did you notice, when we were in Sholazar, the amount of fruit that had been picked from the trees?"

"Mmm?" said Onyxia as she passed her hand over the crystal. "That was Serinar."

"No, it was too much fruit." He yawned. "Someone's living there, several someones, and they're not mercs. Mercs live on their rations, not off the land. I could tell they were humanoid because insects and birds don't pull the entire fruit off the tree, and they were too high to be wolvar or gorlocs, and neither do the Taunka live in Sholazar. I do wonder about that, one would think — "

She had to interrupt now or he'd never shut up. "Perhaps it's worth investigating who our visitors are."

"I think so," said Sabel. "And I was thinking, we might be able to solve the problem of the fighting whelps."

"Why do you say that?" said Onyxia.

"Sometimes, in Blade's Edge, I'd notice a problem with the eggs before they hatched," said Sabel. "They would get sick inside the egg sometimes. It happens. Often the disease would make the whelp try to hatch, and if this happened the whelp might die, because something about the magic of an eggshell made it easier to heal the whelpling inside the egg. I found that if I immersed the egg in water, even if it was in the process of hatching, it would stop. The egg would seal the cracks on its own and I could heal the whelp whilst the egg was underwater." Sabel frowned. "The eggs would be made dormant and no more whelps would hatch."

"There is a problem with that."

"Oh? No, I don't think so, I do remember distinctly that — "

"We have nothing to put the water in."

Pause. "Oh."

"It is a good idea, but…" Trust Sabel to forget important details. Onyxia tilted the crystal in her good hand. It felt smooth and cold against her skin.

She closed her eyes. "I need silence."

It had been so long since she had used her magic for anything more than fireballs and shape shifting. Did she still have it?

She did.

From deep within she dredged it up, long seeped from the surface from disuse. The magic she had fed into her staff once upon a time, the magic she had used on Bolvar's amulet. She forced herself to push Bolvar from her mind, to focus on the magic. Maleficent herself had taught Onyxia, once upon a time. Onyxia had power…

And it came to her. Slowly. Steadily. It returned, like hatched whelplings flocking to their mother.

In response, the magic in the crystal flared. It felt diluted, somehow, and yet…

"It's a mana gem." Onyxia frowned, without opening her eyes. "There's power stored in there… perhaps I can withdraw some. Shh."

Like differently coloured puddles, her magic connected with the power inside the gem and mixed together. The power from the gem felt… strange. Foreign, and yet familiar. She focused on the foreign feeling, analysing it, investigating it. It felt strange. Blue, and yet gold, two colours intertwined.

Carefully, she separated them.

The blue was vibrant on its own, pure. It condensed on its own, and the feeling of dilution faded. "Mana," she said. "It's pure mana. And the gold…"

Sabel did not ask questions, did not say anything. Onyxia turned to the golden magic.

The gold did not strengthen. It felt weak, pale, sickly. And it held a link…

"Aha." She opened her eyes. "I have found something. There are two kinds of magic in this crystal." She held it up. "Pure mana, and magic which could either be of the Light or the Titans. The latter, most likely, although it is quite similar to the Light. The Titanic magic is quite weak. It seems that the pylons themselves have lost magic, over time, or else it has been suppressed."

"Curious." Sabel rubbed his chin. "What's happened to it?"

Onyxia frowned. In her hand the blue colour faded from the crystal until it was a pure white. She turned it over into her hands, until she found a blue spot on it. "Ah," she said. "When both kinds of magic are intertwined it ensured the mana was distributed fairly in the crystal, however now…" she showed the spot to Sabel. It was a brighter blue than the entire crystal had been, moments before. "It has condensed together. Fascinating. I feel it once held more mana than it does now. Would it have been entirely blue back then? Before something made it leak?"

"Perhaps it was the destruction of the Lifeblood Pillar," said Sabel. "The pylons _did_ stretch their magic to compensate, and it shows. The area near the Lifeblood Pillar was a wasteland not long ago, and the trees are almost fully-grown already."

"We should investigate the other pylons, when we can," said Onyxia. "There is a link between the Titanic magic in this crystal and the pylon. If we can get a sample of each crystal, we may be able to use them to connect with each pylon. And that…" she couldn't help but smirk, "is progress."

"I wonder why the crystals grow near the pylons," said Sabel. "Perhaps the pylons themselves are leaking, and the crystals are the residue?"

"It could be," said Onyxia. "We will have to look at the pylons themselves again, through the lens of the crystals." She gazed at the blue spot on the crystal. As she touched it with her magic again, she noticed the white parts felt completely empty. She picked at the golden magic, and…

"Ah," she said. As the golden magic unravelled and disappeared, she felt the mana drain from the crystal, turning it pure white. "Fascinating. Remove the protection of the Titanic magic and the mana vanishes completely." She looked up at Sabel, who frowned at the crystal. "This is going to be difficult. If only there was a way we could secure Sholazar…"

Sabel took the crystal from her, peering at it from all angles.

"I wonder," Onyxia murmured. "It is a shame the Lich King is not on our side, having an entire undead army at our disposal would be more than useful."

Sabel snorted. "You may as well ask the Dragonqueen herself for her allegiance, for all the good it would do." The crystal slipped from his fingers and onto the ground. "Damn it." He shook his head. "The Lich King would betray us, and then it would all be over."

"Not if we offered him something the Red Flight could not give him," said Onyxia.

_He is dying…_

He would not want to die.

"Like _what_?" Sabel's scowl darkened.

A long silence passed between them, before Onyxia crossed her arms. "You are right. The Red Flight would have already offered…"

"Offered what?" said Sabel.

Onyxia gave him a moment for her implications to sink in.

He would know what she meant.

"What?_"_ Sabel finally said. "_That?"_

"Yes. _That_."

"Gods, _no_. You must be joking."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures." And this would be a desperate measure indeed. "Don't you see? It would benefit us all. We have a powerful being on our side, and he would not have to die."

"He would not accept," said Sabel. "The Argent Crusade would not have allowed anyone nonhuman to become the Lich King. That means he would have lived through the Defias, and everyone in Stormwind knows that's _your_ fault. He wouldn't accept your offer. He would turn around and alert the Red Dragonflight before you could finish speaking, and then it would be _over_." He shook his head. "I don't support it, Onyxia. Don't. Mortals hate us, and the Steward is no exception."

Onyxia glanced down at her chest. Bolvar's necklace glittered against the blue fabric. She took it from around her neck, and allowed the pendant to hang in front of her eyes.

It was a reminder. A reminder of what the mortals had done to their kin.

Did she truly want peace with the Red Dragonflight? It would mean peace with mortals, but mortals were violent creatures.

"You cannot win a game of chess by playing purely defensively, Sabel," she said. "That was my first mistake. We must not make it again."

"We aren't _trying_ to win," said Sabel. "We're trying not to lose."

"There is a difference?"

"Yes," said Sabel. "Have you ever played to a stalemate in chess? Your rival doesn't win, and you don't lose."

_But _we_ don't win, either._

She slipped the pendant into her pocket. She didn't want to touch it again, but she needed something to connect her to the Wyrmbog through her apathy. Thinking of Bolvar's face should have made her angry, should have made her want to throw things, but all she felt was numb. Even killing Aridonna Stoutwell and the draenei had done little for her.

She was uncertain what to feel. Her children were dead. Bolvar had died before she could get her vengeance.

And how could she want it, knowing that she was responsible for the deaths of far more than he?

-o-O-o-

Lirastrasza leaned over the table in the war chamber, the red, wooden heads of pins poking out of the map of Northrend that lay spread before her. It was better than what the mortals had once had. Icecrown's details had been filled in, the mountains of the Storm Peaks had been put in their correct positions at last and the Borean Tundra appeared to have lost a chunk of its landmass. It was the most up-to-date map in the world.

Maps were for mortals. Dragons had never needed maps.

Not until now.

At least a dozen red pins clustered together over the Pit of Nar'jun, with many more scattered across the Dragonblight in twos and threes. Mostly only the Dragonblight had the red pins, although there were a few in Grizzly Hills and even a couple in Crystalsong Forest. As more mercenaries returned with their data, more pins would fill the map, and more entrances to the Nerubian Kingdom would be recorded.

Most mercs had been sent to Icecrown. After all, the Obsidian Dawn would head to the most deserted place possible. They might have even gone farther north than Icecrown, possibly to one of the islands. As soon as the courier got there, the Argent Crusade would be put on guard and patrolling the Nerubian tunnels underneath what was left of the Tournament.

But who knew where they might end up? The Obsidian Dawn weren't mortals, clinging to the surface caves so as not to get lost. They had plunged in deep, risking everything, calling Lirastrasza's bluff. If _they_ got lost, then the Red Flight couldn't hope to follow. Few mortals had a rough idea of the Nerubian Kingdom, and the Dragonflights knew even less.

But they'd find the Obsidian Dawn, and Nalice. It was only a matter of time.

"It's not like the Black Dragonflight to hide like cowards," Lirastrasza murmured. Her fingertips drummed on the map. They were too proud. Once they thought they were safe, they'd return to the surface. They would establish their presence.

And that would be their first mistake.

A knock sounded on the door.

Lira straightened. "Enter."

Eduard Von Andorhal strode through the doorway. His usually neat hair hung over his eyes, narrowed in a scowl.

Eduard never glared like that. He was too polite.

"Steward?" Lira straightened in surprise. "Have you returned?"

She had to be on her guard. Who knew what he was like now? Who knew how deeply the Old Gods' claws had sunk into him?

"Indeed," said the Steward. "Eduard told me I've been under for quite a few days now. And that the Ambassador's under house arrest."

Oh, yes. She'd forgotten about _him_. It wasn't as if the Ambassador needed feeding, after all.

"We assumed the worst, Steward." Lira clasped her hands behind her back. "That the Old Gods had corrupted you at last. We isolated the Ambassador for fear they would use him."

"It wasn't the Old Gods," said the Steward. "It was Onyxia."

"… Who operates under the corruption of the Old Gods."

"What?" The Steward's scowl deepened. "She's too proud to accept help from anyone other than her brother, let alone anyone more powerful than her. Eduard didn't detect any Old God magic. It was her own doing."

"What happened?"

"She fed my power back to me." The Steward tilted his head. "It triggered a feedback loop, a surge, which was powerful enough to make me unconscious for days. Eduard told me he was working to get it back up ever since, although he had to fight her for it. Sometimes he almost succeeded, but Onyxia managed to imitate him and send me back under." His fists clenched. "That is the last time that _bitch_ gets the better of me."

"And he finally won, I see." Lira frowned at him.

"Indeed." The Steward straightened his shoulders. "I'm more powerful than she is, Lirastrasza, and she knows it. That's why she had to resort to using my own power against me. She cannot manipulate me on her own. Eduard said he finally managed to cut her from my power completely, but as a result, we can't get a lock on her. She's lost to us all. We have no idea where she is or even her status."

_Or so you say_, thought Lira. There was no telling if the Steward hadn't become a puppet of the Old Gods, if they were manipulating him into saying that right this very second...

How could they trust him? The first major emergency had happened; it was inevitable more would take place.

"I will have to speak with the Dragonqueen about having him released," said Lira. There was little point keeping the Ambassador imprisoned when the Steward could simply possess Eduard's body and wander around like he owned the place, and capturing Eduard in outright hostility would be… _bad_. The last thing they wanted was to trigger yet _another_ Scourge invasion. They would have to keep a subtle eye on the Steward, make sure he was not up to anything yet. "Please accept my apologies, Steward."

"See that it's taken care of quickly," said the Steward. "He's my eyes and ears here."

_And that_, thought Lirastrasza, _is the problem. _She would have to keep the Ambassador's hands tied after his release to keep him out of their business.

How convenient, that he could not tell where Onyxia was. Especially…

Well. He'd been in love with her once, hadn't he? Onyxia would be a fool not to take advantage of that. The humans thought themselves bland compared with the night elves and their nature, the gnomes and their technology, the dwarves and their digging. But they weren't; the key characteristic of the human race was how intensely they _loved_. Some never truly fell out of it, especially when courtship came to a sudden end, as Bolvar's had.

Onyxia would know that. She would use it. Bolvar felt guilt, as well, for what happened right under his nose; he would search for anything to ease it. He would want any excuse to sympathise with her to end his own wretchedness.

She knew that, too.

"Do not feel guilty, Steward," said Lirastrasza.

"What?" he frowned at her.

"For doing what must be done," said Lira. "Onyxia had to die, and she must die again, to protect everyone we hold dear. Do not feel guilt for that."

"You think I feel _guilty_ over killing her?" The Steward peered at her. "Lirastrasza, when you're a leader, you do what is best for your people. You don't do what is right for _you_, and you don't even do what is right for the other person. My priority was to protect the people of Stormwind and even Theramore, and I don't regret that."

"Spoken like a true politician," said Lira.

"Lirastrasza, she read my mind like it was a book written for her personal entertainment." His face twisted into a sneer. "I have lived the last few years knowing that the one thing I thought was mine, the one thing I thought was sacred and private, can be played with by any powerful-enough magician. Do you know how many times I wondered if my thoughts were truly my own? If someone had planted them? If, in fact, my entire reality was just some show a mage put on inside my head? Perhaps I'm completely insane and don't even know it."

He snarled, and turned to pace. "Perhaps Onyxia survived, and used her magic to delude me into thinking otherwise, and I'm actually inside a locked room in a madhouse. Sometimes I look at the world around me and all I can see is proof of this — I mean, the Lich King? _Really_? I'm the _Lich King_? And I have a bunch of Old Gods trying to take me over? How deluded can I _get_?"

He shook his head. "This isn't real. It can't be real. Even my little girl might not be real. _Nothing_ can be real. I play along because the consequences would be disastrous if I was wrong."

_She could be in your head right now_, thought Lirastrasza. _Listening to every single thought you have, every whim you feel. And you would never know. This is why we cannot trust you._

"I'm afraid I have bad news, Steward," said Lira. "It concerns the daughter you just mentioned."

"Saya?" the Steward snapped upright. "What's happened to her? Have you found her? Is she alright?"

"She may as well be dead," said Lirastrasza. "She is still in the clutches of the Obsidian Dawn, however that is not the bad news. The bad news is that she has been Ascended."

"Ascended?" Brief confusion fluttered across the Avatar's face. "Ascended, that means...?"

"She has been turned into dragonspawn. No doubt to discourage us from ever recovering her."

So that was what a human looked like when his heart broke.

"What?" Bolvar's voice cracked. "Dragonspawn? They — they turned her into a _monster_?"

_Dragonspawn are not monsters._ Lira felt the urge to backhand him, but resisted. She'd give him the benefit of the doubt. He meant to imply that the _Black Dragonflight_ were monsters... not dragons themselves.

Surely?

Of course he did. It wasn't as if he held grudges against the entirety of dragonkind, first for almost tearing his kingdom apart, making him question his sanity and reality, and then preventing him from dying, dooming him to spending the rest of his lifetime as the jailer of the damned, or else have no other purpose to living...

Oh, wait...

"Yes," said Lira, simply. Bolvar covered his face with one of Eduard's hands. "She's one of them now. They made sure of it."

"Are you certain?"

"I could smell it," said Lira. "She and Samia Inkling are definitely dragonspawn. They smell different than humans. I couldn't detect a human scent with them at all when we tracked them into the Nerubian kingdom."

The Avatar placed his hands, calmly, by his side. When he met Lira's eye once more, his expression was...

It was as if a light in him had died.

_Good._ Lira felt a surge of glee. The only thing stronger than a human's affection for a traitorous ex was their love for a child. If Onyxia _had_ failed to control him as Bolvar had tried to assure Lira, then she would definitely not succeed now. The Old Gods may win after all in time, but Onyxia could do nothing.

And if Onyxia _had_ won, then, well… her job would suddenly become much more difficult.

"What do you want to do about her?" said Lira.

"She is still my daughter," said Bolvar. "And Varian made a promise to me that if something happened to me, he would raise her no matter what. And I'm going to damn well ensure he fulfils that promise. I still want her recovered, at all costs."

"Of course." It wouldn't be hard to comfort him when the girl died, perhaps. He could be soothed with words, could be told _it's better for her, this way, than to live as one of them. Don't you understand? Even under Wrynn's guardianship it might still get out what she has become and her life would have been lived in danger..._

Blackwhelps were dangerous. Dragonspawn children, and Blackbloods, were still dangerous. No matter how much Bronze there was in there to dilute it.

Bolvar opened his mouth again, when a knock sounded on the door once more. Bolvar stepped aside without another word, and Lira looked to the door. "Enter."

It was Leonardo Withering that entered, this time. Half of his face was scarred by burns. Immediately, Lira saw the pang on Bolvar's face.

"Oh, hello Eddy," Leonardo said, giving Bolvar a quick glance. "Have I interrupted? I wanted to ask a quick question."

"It's alright," said Bolvar. "You… can stay."

"You alright?" Leo arched an eyebrow, and when Bolvar nodded, he turned to Lira. "Sorry, it won't take long, I was wondering if my guildmates had returned yet?"

Lira glanced at the map. Aridonna Stoutwell, Daraan the draenei and Pheledrae Silverfeather had been sent to Sholazar. "I'm afraid not."

Leo frowned. "They said they'd have hearthed back to Dalaran by now and relayed a message, but the Blues said they haven't seen a trace yet."

"They may have ventured too deep into the tunnels and gotten lost," said Lira. "I would not fear. There are so many entrances to the kingdoms they'd stumble their way to the surface eventually."

"If they're not back in a week..." Leo frowned, tugging at one of his sleeves. He glanced back to Bolvar. "If they ran into the Black Flight they'd never get out alive."

"The Black Flight are underground?" said the Steward.

Feeling exposed for every word she spoke, Lira said, "We tracked them until we lost the scent in Azjol'Nerub. They're underground somewhere."

"I hope they're alright…" Leo didn't seem to be talking about the Dawn.

"There is a very prestigious shaman and his wife arriving in Wyrmrest Temple within the week, if you have no qualms about speaking to orcs," said Lirastrasza. "He married recently, and had three of the Aspects as his witnesses in fact. If something happened to your comrades, he would be able to find out."

"Killing the Horde's not on my priority list, no," said Leo. Then he paused, and said, "Would you be talking about Thrall, by any chance?"

"Yes, actually," said Lira. "He's —"

A shriek resonated through the halls outside. The Steward straightened up with a frown. An influx of magic — magic Lira had not felt for weeks — touched her as a golden blur sped into the room, collided with her and flopped to the floor.

Lira staggered back, winded. She took in a deep breath and looked at the new arrival on the floor. Her eyes widened, her pain forgotten. "Bronze!" she said.

A young whelp sat on the floor, his expression stunned. He blinked up at Lira. "Chromie bade me speak with the Reds!" he wheezed. "And so I came!"

"The Bronze Flight has returned at last?" Lira knelt on the ground.

"Almost." The whelp panted and collapsed into a heap, his golden scales glittering in the cold light. "Some of us have returned. But not many. We — I — "

"Slow down." The whelp in front of her was just a child, after all. "Start from the beginning. What happened?" Lira glanced around her. "Ah, Eduard, my apologies…" The poor Steward simply couldn't get a word in edgeways today, it seemed. "I must speak with the whelp in private. May I contact you when we are done?"

"There is no more to speak of, in any case." The Steward bowed. "Thank you."

"C'mon Eddy," said Leo. "Let's get lunch."

The Steward blinked, and offered Leo a weak smile. "I don't eat."

"Then you can sit there and stare at me while _I_ eat," said Leo. "It's been a while since we caught up, hasn't it?"

"Yes." There was a note of sadness in the Steward's voice as Leo slung an arm around his neck and led him away. "It has been… quite a while. I have missed you, friend."

It was a shame that Leo would never know the truth. It had been the Frostmoon Federation, after all, that was present at the Lich King's death.

As they left, Lira looked back to the whelp. His breath had slowed and his eyes seemed a little brighter. "My name is Nevedormu," he said. "Chromie sent me."

Chromie? _Brilliant_. "Has she got good news?"

"The Aspect has almost returned," said Nevedormu. "The timeline was reclaimed enough to allow me to slip through, but nobody could follow. Nozdormu has been able to access other timelines, but not this one yet. The Infinites have been withholding him, but he will be free soon, by your perspective, although it will take quite a while yet from ours." The whelp straightened, his little rump on the floor, looking up at Lira. "They have been trying to corrupt him. It will not work. He will be free."

"When can I expect the rest of the Flight to return?"

"Soon," said the whelp. "But Nozdormu's inability to return to this period of the timeline means… news. More news. Chromie insists it is not as bad as it sounds, however."

"What is it?" Lira folded her legs underneath her as the whelp adjusted his position.

"The Heir will never make it to Corastrasza," said Nevedormu. "That was found out quite recently from my perspective. Neither will Deathwing recover the decoy. Both did not end up where they intended to go."

"Why not?"

"Interference," said Nevedormu. The wings that he had allowed to collapse by his side in exhaustion folded on his back. "Chromie informed me that although the Infinites intended for my Flight to be unable to recover the eggs, she discovered that they did the right thing for once. Attempts to undo their actions resulted in a tear of the fabric of the universe, which was hastily repaired."

"Curious." Lira clasped her hands. "Very curious. I take it, then, that the Reds are not to interfere with these eggs?"

"No," said Nevedormu. "Chromie said they will end up where they are supposed to, but it is not the Reds who will take them there."

"Can I ask who?"

Nevedormu shook his head. "Chromie tells me that she will contact the Dragonqueen when the time is right, and reveal all."

Bloody Bronzes, always pretending to be gods. They'd often interfered in the past, witholding information from even the Dragonqueen to allow favourable events to pass...

But then again, it had all been for good. The Bronzes only told what they had to. They knew what they were doing. Nobody died without reason if a Bronze was involved.

So why did she feel so annoyed? Why did the sudden urge to rip the wings off the little whelp in front of her rise within her?

She scowled. What was wrong with her lately? They were doing their _job_. She rubbed her head. "Why can't we know _now_?"

She knew what the answer would be, and Nevedormu did not disappoint. "Because the world is not ready yet." He flexed his wings. "Chromie tells me that her message to the Dragonqueen is the next and last time the Bronzes will interfere without permission. The rest is in everyone else's hands."

"Can you at least tell me what this information is about, if nothing else?" said Lira. "Something vague?"

"The Black Messiah," said Nevedormu. "What happened to him. Where he went. Where you will be able to find him at the right time. He mustn't reach Corastrasza. The decoy, too, has his own part to play."

"Neither are female?" Lira gazed down at Nevedormu. "Good. We don't want them _breeding_." She brushed down her front. "I expect you will not tell us where the Obsidian Dawn is?"

"No," said the whelp. "I cannot."

Lira sighed. "I am not surprised."

"Everything will culminate in the right moment," said Nevedormu. "The Bronzes will only interfere once more, and that is when Chromie comes to speak to your mother. Not a moment before, not a moment later."

-o-O-o-

The sky was a pale blue dome far above them, smeared with the occasional cloud. The pines of the Howling Fjord whooshed by underneath them, protecting the dark green grass below. Indigosa twisted over and sped into a gorge as Samia clung to her back. Bones crunched underneath Indigosa's claws as she landed among burnt-out huts.

Samia fell off.

The ground broke her fall.

"Ow."

"At last," said Indigosa. She straightened up, taller than the dilapidated, vrykul-built hut beside her. "We have arrived. It appears that although we are late, the ship is in. This is a relief."

Samia tried to stand up and failed. "Ow."

Indigosa's tail curled around her. "Remember, the man in question you are looking for is both dark haired and skinned. He wore civillian clothes when the Ambassador saw him, so he could be dressed in any fashion of armour when you meet him."

Samia managed to stand up, but when she tried to walk her legs decided that was much too painful. They'd had to fly through the night rather than stop to allow Samia to sleep. Samia had tried to summon the spirits of the air to give them a tail wind but, of course, they'd ignored her. The winds of Northrend had, instead, buffetted them from all angles for the entire journey.

"Ow," said Samia. "Uh, Indi, that could apply to _anyone_."

"He had the look of a youth," said Indigosa, not seeming to notice how stiff her passenger was. "Not many winters older than you. On board a ship there will be less chance of one who would resemble him."

"Say that in Draconic, please, rather than Ye Olde Speech?" Fucking _dragons_.

Indigosa sighed. "Less passengers on a ship means he will stick out more." She shook her head. "Best of luck to thee, Samia, I must depart." _I've got to go_, _you mean._ "The Steward has long awoken and has attempted to find me for days. It is time I put an end to his stress."

"Ow. Thanks, by the way. Bye."

It took a few more attempts, long after Indigosa was gone, before Samia could bend her legs without pain and staggered in the direction of Valgarde.

With only half a moment's thought, Samia changed her form. Her clothing was replaced by a man's leather gear. She touched her face and felt the burn underneath her fingertips.

"Hello?" she ventured. When Leo's came out, she said, "Shit, I can _never_ get used to that. Valgarde, ho! Let's see how fast I can fuck this up!"

She giggled. Hearing Leo giggle instead of her only cracked her up even more.

Damn, everyone was going to think Leo was insane after she was done with borrowing his appearance!

Valgarde was made of a single building, a few tents and a dock. The building looked as if it had seen better days, with several blue tiles missing and what looked like a poorly patched-up hole in one wall. The tents looked cleaner, if somewhat chilly.

And at the dock was a ship, its white sails furled.

When Samia spotted a guard lolling by the gates she'd just come through, she approached him. He spotted her and snapped to attention. Aw, crap, what was the proper response? To return the salute? She did so awkwardly, but he didn't seem phased. "Is that the ship to the Eastern Kingdoms?" she said.

"Yes, sir," said the guard. "It's been delayed, waiting for a passenger."

"Is it too late to purchase passage?"

"For you it's free, sir!" said the guard. "For all you've done for Valgarde."

"Er," said Sam. She wasn't Leo, after all. "No, it's alright — "

"We insist, sir!" said the guard. "You know what the captain's like, if he finds out you're trying to sneak payment in again he'll feel insulted."

"Ah, yes, of course," said Sam. "Well, thank you. Who are we waiting on?"

"Frostmoon Federation, sir," said the guard. "They're waiting at the dock for one last recruit." The guard rolled his eyes. "You know what _they're_ like, sir..."

She didn't, but she said, "Well, it's turned out in my favour. Thank you!"

"No problem, sir," the guard squeaked. "There's a few of yours hanging out there, too. I'm sure they'll be glad to see you."

Aw, crap. Why was she surprised? It was practically a rule of the universe; take someone's form and you were guaranteed to attract the people that knew them like a magnet. "Brilliant."

Much to Samia's displeasure, _everyone_ at the dock recognised her.

_All of them._

Including the few merchants clustered there, whose eyes lit up as they beamed at her.

Gods freaking _damn it_.

"Leo!" called a shrill voice. "_Sweetie!_"

"Oh gods," said another. "I'm going to be _sick_."

By the Titans, out of every possible member of the Brotherhood of Cinders she had to run into, why did it have to be _Clarisse_? A dwarven priest Samia didn't recognise stood beside her, as well as the gnome from Blackrock. That had been so many years ago… "We wasn't expecting you, why didn't you call ahead once you were in range? We wasn't expecting you!"

"Stop speaking like an idiot," said the dwarf, who'd been the first to complain at Clarisse's voice. "You're embarrassing."

The only way it could have been worse was if she'd run into Lana Stoutwell instead.

"Ran into some trouble," said Sam.

"New pack, I see." Clarisse's eyes settled on the one on her back. "What happened to the old one?"

"The same trouble," Sam grunted. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"As long as you're not injured..." The dwarven priest glared at her, as if Leonardo regularly got hurt on purpose just to spite him.

"I'm fine," said Sam. "Got all patched up so it's no biggie."

"You got _hurt_?" said Clarisse. "Oh, no! Poor Leo!"

"Can you _please_ kick her out of the guild?" said the dwarven priest. "I will take over healing duty for the _rest of my life_ if I never have to hear this idiot again!"

Clarisse ruffled the dwarf's hair. If looks could kill, the dwarf could stare at a necromancer and render them incapable of resurrecting the dead ever again. "Aww, Gavel, I know you really love me."

"Die in a fire."

Sam smirked half-heartedly and leaned against the post. The number one rule of digsuise, Sabel had taught her, was to pretend as if you belonged there. "People who speak the truth," said Sabel, "take it for granted they will believed. Only liars worry about not being believed. You can disguise yourself among the Stormwind Guard even when they know each other intimately as long as you fake it well enough that you're supposed to be there, and they won't even bat an eyelid. In fact they'll introduce themselves and play cards with you. If you're pretending to be someone, the same thing will happen — don't get nervous, and the other person will just assume the person you're pretending to be is in a funny mood."

Samia quickly noticed the non-merchant group of people on the dock. There was a distinct divide between them and the Brotherhood, Samia noticed next, because they were all glaring at them. Although they were in civillian dress, each wore the tabard of the Frostmoon Federation. A night elven man glared at her openly.

Gavel muttered in Dwarvish beside her.

Samia shrugged at the night elf. "What?"

"Fancy seeing you here," said the night elf. "I didn't expect you. And, evidently, your revolting girlfriend didn't either."

"Oh gods," said Gavel. "You are _not_ sleeping with her. Please tell me you're not sleeping with her. That is disgusting, I wouldn't touch that with a ten-foot barge pole."

"Darlin'," said Clarisse. "I am a _wild cat_ in the bedroom."

Shit, shit, shit, was Leo sleeping with her? Samia opted to ignore the comment. "I thought I'd drop by and surprise you all. So, surprise!"

Leo wasn't typically a silly person, but it won a snicker from Clarisse and a scowl from the night elf. Was she risking too much, acting like this? Her eyes crept over the night elf's company. Two draenei, a woman whose robes looked strangely posh, and —

A man. Dark skin, dark eyes, glaring in her direction with such venom Samia wouldn't have been surprised if she'd keeled over on the spot.

Aha. So that was him. It had to be; the only other dark-skinned men with them were clustered with the merchants. So Alexstrasza had entrusted one of the eggs to the Frostmoon Federation.

But was this the man fated to die for a fake egg, or was this the man who would take the Heir to Corastrasza? Her eyes slid along and found a pile of luggage next to the ship, where a magnificent, brightly-coloured parrot sat on guard.

A kaliri. Sam knew those birds. On Outland, once, Sabel had spent a stint after Sam's Ascension as an arakkoa. Naturally, Sam had to take the form as well. The magnificent kaliri were the Arakkoan equivalent of dogs, both beloved pets and hunting companions. Only a hunter could tame an adult, although it wouldn't surprise Sam if one of the Federation had nicked a baby bird and raised it.

Still, she had to assume the worst; that one of the casually-dressed Federation in front of her was a hunter. Worst case scenario, it was the egg carrier.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"What a special surprise," the night elf deadpanned. "And your guildmates told me you wouldn't be here."

"They didn't know I was coming," said Samia. "I've had a change of plans. Heading back to Stormwind to take care of something."

"And you didn't teleport from Dalaran?"

_Fuuuuck._

"I've got plenty of time," said Samia. "Couldn't find a mage — "

"In _Dalaran? _The _city of mages_?"

" — That wasn't charging an arm and a leg." Samia glared at the night elf. "I thought I'd just travel with friends. Plenty of time."

"I'm guessing you forgot Clarisse was here," Gavel deadpanned.

"Well," said Samia. She paused for a beat. "Yeah."

"Little wonder the Brotherhood is so incompetent if its leader isn't even taking the opportunity to do some extra work," said the night elf.

"There's little point working myself to death," said Samia. "Besides, why didn't _you_ teleport from Dalaran? I thought you were all rolling in it."

The night elf gestured to the people in his company. "With the exception of John — " he gestured to the man who must be the egg-carrier, " — all of these people are new recruits. I'm taking the chance to train them on the voyage over. We did expect to have the _entire_ vessel to ourselves, but... well, one cannot have everything."

"I dread to think of what would happen to the ship if you didn't have a crew to steer it," said Samia. "Leaving without a crew would be very silly, you know."

"Don't be a smartarse, I wasn't _counting_ the crew."

Clarisse giggled. "I love it when you antagonise people. _Love it._"

"Stop hitting on the guild master," said Gavel.

"He can be _my_ master any day."

"Well, _that's_ subtle as hell."

"Yes, well," said the night elf. "One of our recruits is running late, so we arranged for the boat to be postponed. He should be here within the hour."

"And then the boredom can end," said Clarisse. "You are such a selfless guild, holding everything up on behalf of one person and all that. Simply _selfless_!"

"Twisty," said Gavel, looking to the gnome, who blinked. "If Clarisse starts a fight, turn her into a sheep. I don't want to waste my supplies patching up the Frostmoon Fuckers."

"Then use the Light," said Clarisse.

"Too good for those bastards."

"Then let 'em die!"

The men and women of the Frostmoon Federation rolled their eyes. "Children," snorted John. "What the hell's taking Chris so long?"

It was two mind-numbing hours before the final recruit of the Frostmoon Federation, "Chris", arrived — and one other. A woman trailed behind him.

"Sorry," the new recruit said. "There were a few travelling merchants that needed my protection. This is Sarah, she's coming with us, and that's Lily with her."

Only then did Samia see the baby the woman held. The baby smiled at her.

Samia felt as if she'd been punched.

As the crew set up the gangplank and the passengers trailed up to the deck, Clarisse touched her arm. "Eh?" she said. "Leo? Are you alright?"

Samia tore her eyes from the baby. "Yeah," she croaked. She felt hollow, as if some hole had opened up inside her and tried to turn her inside out. "I'm fine. Tired as hell, though."

Clarisse touched her gently again. "Alright," she said. "Come on."

Her look was far too tender for Samia's liking.

_Oh, fuck me_, thought Samia.

She paused, and then mentally added, _on second thought, please don't._


	54. Sitting Ducks

_**A/N: **Only a smidge of Onyx this chapter, alas. I hate to stay away from her but her scene was too long to be included in this chapter. :(_

_I do hope the ending makes up for it._

_Thank you to **Coincidencless** for being my beta!_

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

John strode onto the polished deck with a bulging pack and the kaliri on his shoulder. Every now and then he stole a glance in Samia's direction. Samia pretended not to notice.

If John was the hunter, as the bird on his shoulder signified, then he _knew_. As a dragonspawn, she may have been less likely to be detected than dragons, but someone hiding from Deathwing would be on the lookout for her kind. The only advantage she had was that he didn't know what _kind_ of dragonkin she was.

Good. If he thought she was a dragon, he wasn't about to raise the alarm and risk Valgarde being burned to the ground, especially with so few people to defend it. On board a ship would be even riskier; a dragon in its true form would sink the ship on the spot. John knew better than to arouse a potential dragon's suspicion, to risk its wrath.

So Samia found herself disguising as a dragon disguising as Leonardo Withering.

_Fun_.

She kept the characteristic Obsidian sneer on her face as she ducked below decks into a wooden stairwell. She ran her hand along the polished wood, taking comfort in the heavy weight of her pack on her back.

"C'mon." Clarisse touched her arm. "Need to talk to ya. C'mon. Where's my room?"

"Yeah," said Samia. Gavel and Twisty ducked past her, trotting down the creaking stairs after Clarisse. Above, Samia heard the footsteps of the other passengers as they milled about.

Clarisse shut the door behind them after her three guests trooped in. The room was a small one, with two hammocks put away on their hooks. A grimy window let in the light, and outside the whistling winds whipped up the water. A small table in the centre of the room was bolted to the floor with a stool on each side. As Gavel climbed onto a seat without invitation, Twisty struggled to do the same and almost stumbled as the boat rocked.

Samia sat down without any drama. Both the shorter members of their little party glared at her. She tried not to smirk.

"About damn time we got going." Clarisse slid an iron key along the table towards Samia. "I was going to room alone but since you're here we may as well share. S'not like you'd have had to pay for one, eh? We may as well share."

Sam hadn't exactly talked to anyone to determine if there _was_ another room for her to take. "Sounds fine."

"About damn time we got going," Clarisse said again as she took her seat opposite Sam. "Fuckin' Frostass Fuckeration holding everything up. Rulin' the world just 'cause everyone damn well owes them."

If Leo got free passage on a ship just for helping Valgarde, Samia could only imagine what perks the Frostmoon Federation got for defeating Illidan, Arthas, Nefarian, and Titans knew who _else_. When the Brotherhood of Cinders clawed themselves back from the pit Onyxia had put them in, in time to kill Sintharia, it must have made them grim.

Sam wondered if it ever bothered Onyxia her mother was dead by their hand, but then, Black dragons in general seemed to care little for their parents. Especially Nalice.

"Sooo." Clarisse rested her elbows on the cheap wood, staring at Sam with wide, innocent eyes. "What's the _real_ reason you're 'ere? The real reason?"

Oh, fuck.

"C'mon," said Clarisse. "I wasn't born _yesterday_. _Nobody_ hangs around on a ship for several weeks just to spend time with their guild."

"Especially when Clarisse is there," said Gavel. Twisty snorted.

"You were at Wyrmrest, how could you _not_ be busy?" said Clarisse. "I wasn't born _yesterday_."

_So you mentioned_, thought a small part of Samia as the rest of her scrabbled for excuses. "Something came up, you know how it is."

"I don't if you don't _say_, does I?"

"_Do I_," said Gavel with a roll of his eyes. Clarisse ignored him.

"The dragons, you understand," said Samia. If in doubt, a dragon did it.

"Yes?" Up went Clarisse's red eyebrows.

"You know what _they're_ like."

Clarisse snorted. "I don't know if you don't say."

Talking to Clarisse was like having a chronic case of deja vu.

Aware of Twisty's curious expression and Gavel's frown, Samia scrabbled again. "Listen, it's… the Federation. They want me to keep an eye on the Frostmooners travelling on the ship." Samia lowered her voice. The others leaned in. "That's all. There's..."

Oh, hell.

Why not work this to her advantage?

"The Dragonqueen suspects that one of them is carrying precious cargo," said Samia. "A dragon's egg."

Clarisse sat up straight. "Whose egg?"

"Alexstrasza's?" said Twisty. "Did they kidnap one of her children?"

"Light help them," said Gavel.

"No, no," said Samia. "Have you heard of a dragon named Nyxondra?"

Gavel and Twisty frowned, but Clarisse tapped a finger against her bottom lip. "I heard the name once. Isn't she the one that laid the pure egg? Is it true, then, that there'll be a new Aspect of Earth?"

"How did you hear?" said Sam.

Clarisse and the others exchanged glances. Oh, hell, was this something Leo knew? "I keep my ear to the ground," Clarisse said. "When we was in Wyrmrest I 'eard some of the Frostassholes talkin'. Heard them talking, they were saying something about Nyxondra and an egg."

"What puzzles me," said Gavel, "is why they'd want to keep that egg alive at all. Lirastrasza's pretty set on wiping them all out, last I checked. Remember Obsidia?"

Samia did. She'd met her, too, once or twice in Blade's Edge. Obsidia had been a strangely gentle, timid Black dragon. Being away from the corruption probably helped. She would stand in the rigid form of a high elven woman, black tresses pouring down her shoulders, tugging on her gloves whilst Sabel went to work on some potion she wanted.

And now she was dead.

"They only need one Black dragon alive to be Aspect of Earth," said Samia.

"I s'pose." Clarisse scowled. "The hell'd they give it to the _Federation_ instead of us for?"

"Something went wrong," said Samia. She wracked her brain for lies. "They were supposed to give a decoy to the Federation, to test how trustworthy they truly were, but they got the eggs mixed up, so the Federation has the real one." Hopefully. "They wanted me to recover it." She looked at her audience. "That doesn't leave this room."

"Chill." Clarisse lifted her hands in supplication. "I ain't gonna tell this to _no one_."

"Could you at least _pretend_ you're not an idiot when you talk?" said Gavel.

"Give it a rest, by the _Light_," Twisty snapped.

Clarisse flipped them both off. "We're stuck with those bastards for three weeks. Plen'y of time. Who has it?"

"John, I'm pretty certain." Samia's hands curled into fists on the scratched table.

"I can do recon," said Clarisse.

"No," said Samia quickly. "No, no, I'll handle that. You keep your ear to the ground, like you said, you're good at that." _That_ she knew about Clarisse, something she'd learned during her days as a whore on the streets of Stormwind, before Norris came. "I'll do the dirty work. I can't steal it too soon or we'll all be chucked in the brig. When it's almost time to dock, I'll nick it then. I might need your help as lookouts or as distraction."

"Got it," said Clarisse.

Gavel and Twisty stared thoughtfully at the table. The silence between them stretched on against the backdrop of calling seagulls. The ship swayed on the water, and above decks Samia heard the muffled shouts of sailors.

"Sounds like we're off," she said, glancing through the window behind her. The scenery had begun to move.

"About damn time," muttered Clarisse.

"If I wasn't out of runes," Twisty murmured, "you could steal it sooner and I'd give you a portal out. I thought I'd get some when we got to Menethil, had no reason to think I'd need them before."

Which begged the question, why _was_ a mage travelling by boat? What were those three doing here?

The day wore on, almost as dull as back in Icecrown but without Sabel's fluttery complaining to distract her. The four of them clung together like the family they probably were; on the decks, in the bar, at dinner. Whilst they ate that night Samia's eyes flickered occasionally to the mercenary John, who talked and laughed with his guildmates at a table of their own. The kaliri wasn't with him. Neither was the pack.

After dinner she played cards with the Brotherhood. A dull haze swept over her mind as the candle burned low, until at last Twisty and Gavel retired. Without a word, Clarisse blew out the candle and packed away the cards. Sam retrieved a hammock from its hook and strung it up above the table. The moonlight poured through the window, casting a ghostly light over Clarisse as she rummaged through her belongings.

Sam settled in to sleep.

Her hammock rocked with the ship. At first she listened to the shwinging of Clarisse's weapons as she sharpened them in the dark, then the rustling as she put them away. The creaking of another hammock. Shallow breathing flowed into deep.

Still, sleep did not come.

Something was missing. Hearing Clarisse with her weapons had been oddly comforting, but now the silence pressed in on her. In Blade's Edge, Sabel had always been nearby. Whilst Samia slept she could hear the clinks and odd shattering of a dropped vial, bitten-off curses and puzzled muttering as her master went about his work. Fizzing as his potions boiled over; it was always Samia who kept an eye on them, because Sabellian often forgot what he was doing in the middle of doing something. He had wasted so many herbs that way.

Rarely did he sleep at the same time as she did, and when he did, the sound of his breathing was better than any lullaby.

It had been different with Saya. Sam had been too busy keeping the girl occupied, fed and distracted to notice the impact of the dragon's absence.

But now, with no other dragonkin on the ship, the silence ached.

-o-O-o-

With Eduard Von Andorhal roaming free and with no good way to pin him down or restrict him without arousing further suspicion from the Lich King, there was little use in keeping the Ambassador imprisoned. Not long after the frostwyrm was free, Eduard teleported out. Where to, Lira had no idea.

The Ambassador received no rest. As members of his guild did their duties to the Red Flight, Leo harassed the frostwyrm on Lira's request. Just as Lira predicted, Bolvar was quite content to check on Leo every now and then through the Ambassador, keeping the Ambassador free from nosing around. Using the Lich King's sentimentality against him was working, and would have the double benefit of staying the corruption if, by a long shot, Bolvar _was_ right and Onyxia hadn't used any Old God magic against him.

Still, it could not be risked.

Much to Lira's consternation she found the Ambassador wandering the lonely halls one afternoon, scowling to himself until he caught sight of her. "Ah, Lirastrasza!" He paused, his hands folded behind his back. His cream jacket was free of creases, as neat as his hair. "I see you're still here. Have you any information on those tunnels?"

"We are still awaiting data from a few zones." Lira fell into diplomat mode.

"Ah, about that," said the Ambassador. "Master Withering… well. You received that guest this morning, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Lirastrasza. "Thrall and his mate finally arrived."

And one heck of a surprise had awaited him.

_After Nevedormu's news, Alexstrasza shook her head sadly. "If we lack a Black Aspect," she said, "we must find another replacement. With no Black dragon to turn to, we must turn outwards."_

_Slowly, surely, the Bronzes returned in a slow trickle. First one a day, then two a day, and now one wandered in every few hours. They shook their heads whenever Alexstrasza questioned them._

"_I don't understand," Lira said to her mother after yet another Bronze drake refused to answer questions. "We still don't know what the Infinites did. The Bronzes have watched timelines die, or shut them down themselves, but never have the Infinite ever succeeded in tampering with the fabric of the _universe_. What have they _done_?"_

_Only one drake came close to being forthcoming. "We set up alternate timelines to see if we could get to the bottom of it," he said. "Even that only got the same results. There's nothing for it, the Black Messiah's egg cannot be touched, or everything is gone."_

"_I expect," said Alexstrasza quietly to her daughter, "that whenever Chromie arrives to speak with me, she will have the answer to this conundrum."_

_Rheastrasza had died in vain. The Black Prince would never become the Aspect of Earth, his egg was lost and would never be recovered._

_Even Thrall had been shocked when Alexstrasza requested him to take the child's place._

An icy wind jerked Lirastrasza back to the present. She found the Ambassador's glowing eyes regarding her curiously. "I apologise," she said. "What did you want to know about Thrall?"

"Nothing," said the Ambassador. "I wanted to let you know that when Leo heard about his arrival, he went looking for him."

Disappointing. Although, if he were to try to summon the ghosts of his dead companions, perhaps something useful could come of it.

"It's a bit of a relief," the Ambassador admitted. "He seems pretty… well." He shuffled on the spot. Normally the Ambassador felt like a part of the scenery, with his silken clothing, his straight posture and the way he seemed to blend into the walls, but the gesture made him look small. Timid. "_Interested_ in me. Does he know about the Steward? The Steward said he didn't, not to his knowledge…"

"Nor to mine." Lira crossed her arms, a gesture that made the Ambassador tilt his head. "It was the Frostmoon Federation who were present at his little… coronation."

"I know that." The Ambassador's scowl returned.

"Didn't you meet them once?" said Lira. "I mean, before Arthas's demise."

The Ambassador glared and stalked past her.

Lira smiled.

If he was going to wander around unchecked, she may as well annoy him to redeath in the meantime.

The greenskin was staying in the southern chambers in one of the middle floors. Lira trailed up a stone, spiral staircase, past some silken tapestries and into a long, grey hallway. The stench of human mingled with the reek of orcs and the sound of drifting voices in the still air. The scent of the female orc was strongest; she'd slipped away from her mate in the last few moments. Lira stopped by an ajar door and leaned against the stone wall, her ears still.

"... don't know how long it would take." She heard Withering's voice, meek and supplicating. "But I would be much obliged if we could arrange _something_. It's been a week since I was supposed to hear from them and I'm worried. It's not like them to disappear off the face of the earth. I mean, alright, Aridonna can be a little irresponsible now and then and Daraan just plain forgets, but Pheledrae's sharp and she's never let me down. I just want to make sure they're not _dead_."

"Of course." Thrall's voice was a low rumble in his chest.

She inched closer. The crack in the door revealed nothing but a sliver of white light from some window within as Thrall continued to speak. "I will help you — no, no, no payment will be necessary. I do this to thank you for all you've done before. Do not think the world has forgotten you for Blackrock and the Wyrmbog. It is the least I can do."

"Thank you," said Leo. "Thank you. _Thank you._"

Lira's breath was silent. She rested her head against the doorway. The stone stung like ice against her cheek.

"This will take but a few moments." Suddenly it struck Lira that Thrall had a voice suited to singing. The observation made her frown. After all that had happened, the sudden innocence felt foreign. "If there are any spirits that should greet us, they will appear soon."

"I heard that it's been more difficult to speak to the spirits since the Cataclysm..."

"Ah," said Thrall. "You have mistaken the spirits of the dead with the spirits of the elements. The elements have been quite distressed for some time and are not easy to speak to. They barely listen to _me_, if they do at all."

A nervous laugh from Leo. _Get on with it_, thought Lira. "Daraan said he's felt useless ever since just before the Cataclysm..."

In the crack of the doorway, the colour of the light changed, from the gentle white of reflected snow to gold, green and blue. Thrall droned in a low tone. "Spirits, we humbly seek those who may have perished. Leonardo Withering, your worried guildmaster, seeks to know the fates of three of your number who have disappeared this week."

"Aridonna Stoutwell," said Leo. "Daraan of Outland. Pheledrae Silverfeather."

A pregnant silence. Lira's fingers curled.

"There are many spirits here," said Thrall. "I can sense them all. Dozens, who once knew you."

Ah.

_Those_ spirits.

"Yes." Inside, Leo's voice cracked. "We lost many in the attack on the Wyrmbog. They fought so… so bravely, I…"

Silence.

"Some are breaking away," said Thrall. "Some are appearing — "

A sharp intake of breath.

Lira nudged the door open.

In the small chamber beyond, red cushions lay scattered on the ground. With his back to her, Leo sat on one. Lira barely had a second to take in bookshelves, a pile of furs, before four figures caught her attention as they stood in front of a white window.

Four _spectres_.

A dwarf, with faded red hair and plate armour. A draenei in chain mail, twin plaits dangling against his chest. A night elf, clutching a bow at her side. A nightsaber, hulking at her knees.

"Oh, gods." Leo's voice was a horrified whisper. "No. _No_."

"Leo." The dwarf's spirit addressed him first. "I'm sorry. I let you down. I tried my best but we didn't stand a chance..."

"We made maps of the entrances we found to the Nerubian kingdom," said the draenei. "If you can find our bodies, the maps are with them, although we can't guarantee they weren't stolen... we died in the south. Right next to the river. Not far from the pillar, north-east, I'd say, to the southernmost pillar."

"Stout…" Lira heard the tears in Withering's voice. "Phel… Daraan…"

"It was a Horde attack," said Stoutwell. "A Forsaken woman. She was either a mage or a warlock."

"There was another," said Pheledrae. "A man. The last thing I remember before the female killed me was Alisha lunging at his throat, although..." She glanced down to the spirit at her knees. "She did not win."

Stoutwell laughed humourlessly. "She had us for breakfast, Leo! She killed me _with her bare hands!_"

"She ripped Donna's throat out." Daraan lowered his eyes. "It was horrific."

"I died quickly," Stoutwell rushed to say. "I died in seconds."

Daraan winced.

"I followed them," said Pheledrae. Beside her, Alisha's ghost groomed herself. "The day before I had detected some Twilight's Hammer activity in the Basin, seen some cultists in small groups. By chance I happened upon a scent and followed it. The owners had tried _very_ hard not to be found, they must be up to something. There was barely a trail to follow, I almost lost them several times." She shook her head. "But they were not cultists. At least, they did not wear the uniform, and it didn't match up with the behaviour of the Cultists in general. I found it bizarre… these two had tried so hard not to be discovered, but risked exposure by attacking anyway."

"They could have snuck by us and we'd never have known," said Stoutwell. "The attack was a complete surprise."

Lira frowned. Twilight's Hammer Cultists in Sholazar?

What did the cultists want from there?

"The female had super strength," said Pheledrae. "She crushed the bones in my face and snapped my neck with little effort."

"The Forsaken in general have varying ability." Thrall shook his head with a sigh. "Some can barely pick up a cup, their muscles are so withered. Others have unnatural strength and agility because the necromantic magic used to raise them had enhanced their strength or speed. Master Withering, please accept my most sincere apologies and condolences for this tragedy."

"It's not your fault." Leo's voice was quiet. So quiet that if Lira were mortal, she would not have picked it up at all. "You never asked for this. Never wanted it. Oh, Stout... the three of you. My best fighters, and little Alisha too..." A sad chuckle. "This is terrible… I've known you all for so long and now you're gone."

"Thank you for everything, Leo." Stoutwell saluted. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I've had the best years of my life in your guild, and it's been an honour to fight alongside you, sir."

Daraan drew in a breath. "And I, too, am grateful for all you have done for me."

Pheledrae shrugged. "I suppose I had fun." But she was smiling, and the nightsaber beside her sat up as if it understood.

"Tell my aunt I love her," said Stoutwell. "I couldn't have been raised by a better guardian. She was as good as a mother to me. Still is. Always will be." She buried her face in her hands. She faded away into the light.

"Pass my love on to my wife," said Daraan before he, too, disappeared.

That left only Pheledrae, who crouched beside her nightsaber, scratching the cat behind the ears.

"Is there anything you want me to pass on?" Leo's voice sounded stronger, and yet empty. Hollow. "Your sisters…"

"They know I love them," said Pheledrae. She frowned. "There is something... that troubles me, about all of this. The woman..." She gazed past Leo, straight at Lira. "She had the strangest eyes. Made of crystal. And her face... it was like she'd wept purple tears."

Slowly she faded from sight.

The door creaked as Lira pushed it fully open. Thrall whirled around. "That matches Onyxia's description," she said, as Leo flinched and leapt to his feet. "Your allies have not died in vain, Withering, they have brought us vital information: Onyxia is in Sholazar Basin with her minions. And, to my joy, we have specifics: near Skyreach. She had a male with her. Given her relationships with the other dragons, this is most likely to be her brother, Sabellian."

Leo let out a long sigh. "This doesn't surprise me." It seemed as it the lines in his face were more pronounced all of a sudden, as if the shadows in them were deeper. "She wouldn't be able to resist. She'd want revenge. Katrana Prestor was _vicious_."

"Onyxia's eyes are unique," said Lira. "I don't know the details of what magic Nefarian used to resurrect her, but I don't think in Northrend she would have had the opportunity to examine herself in the mirror and realise her appearance is _quite_ consistent or she would not have made this mistake." She rose her eyebrows.

Thrall spoke haltingly. "Sabellian is a shaman, yes?" When Lira nodded, he said, "Then he would know of this ritual. Surely he would have warned his sister of her appearance?"

Lira snorted.

Leo smiled weakly. "Obviously, you've never met Sabellian."

"Sabellian is a genius," said Lira. "Therefore he is a complete idiot."

Thrall looked puzzled.

"It makes sense if you've met him." Leo took a deep breath. "Lirastrasza, what happens now?"

"Call your guild," said Lira. "Get them here. With the Frostmoon Federation busy in the Firelands, we cannot turn to them. Onyxia was powerful enough on her own, but now she has Nalice's brood and three adult dragons backing her up." She paused for effect. "And not only that, Leo, but two of them are more powerful than _her_. Our fight in Zul'drak came at a great cost. Serinar is a thirty-four-thousand-year-old dragon, and Sabellian is the most powerful shaman in the world, it was little wonder our attack had been decimated. If he fought instead of fleeing, with him by Onyxia's side, she would be as good as invincible in battle."

Gods, Lira hoped the Obsidian Dawn wouldn't get their hands on the Black Prince's egg. With the Black Prince's power and Sabellian's tutelage, that little whelpling would be _unstoppable._

Perhaps that was exactly what they planned. One did not have to be tainted by Old Gods to be evil.

And a child, especially, wouldn't know any better.

"But Sabellian isn't like that, surely?" said Leo. "I worked with him in Blade's Edge, he was... _nice_, for a dragon." Lira twitched. Leo added hastily, "I mean a Black dragon. When my sister murdered someone he even took the blame. Why would he work with Onyxia?"

"In Outland, there are no Old Gods," said Lira. "Remember that. It is true, the Red Dragonflight once considered him the closest to an ally we would ever have within the Black Dragonflight, but that is only because he was persecuted and hunted by _his own people_. Of course he would see mortals in a more favourable light than his own kind, corrupt or not. If the Black Flight finally opened their arms to him, he would have taken the chance in a heartbeat, just as he did when he fought alongside Deathwing in Outland."

"I see." Leo sighed. "It will take me some time to recall everyone. They're scattered all over the world, and the comms only have the range of a city. I'll have to send a letter through Dalaran to Stormwind. I've got some men on an escort job, it'll be there waiting for them." He took a deep breath. "I'll have to tell Lana about her niece's death, and track down Phel's sisters…"

"Of course." Lira stepped out of the room. "Thank you, Thrall, for doing this for him. And to you, Witheri — Leonardo." She nodded to the mortal. "You have done us a great service."

And he had, too, because the information those spirits had given Lira had told her several things:

The Twilight's Hammer Cult were in Sholazar.

If Onyxia was there, she was working with them.

The Ambassador had told Lira that Onyxia had defected.

Therefore, even before, he had lied.

-o-O-o-

The world was a haze of corruption, a concoction of simmering thoughts, memories and knowledge. Muscle memory, power, magic, all of it downloaded into Wrathion's brain as he wandered and listened.

_Lirastrasza lied_, said a voice in the roof of the world. It reeked of the arcane, in a way sounds could in this plane. It stank of constructs and necromancers and horror imprinted in the psyche, a figure that would have been terrifying if he was not so neat and friendly. _I know a liar when I see one. Withering knows about us._

_She may not have lied in the way you think_, said another voice. A tired one, one heavy with burdens that made Wrathion feel sleepy just to hear, a voice that threatened to latch onto him and drown him. And yet, chaotic, all over the place, frazzled, stretched thin to the point of snapping. _Leo doesn't know, I'd recognise it if he did. But she was covering up _something_. I think she put him onto harassing you. She doesn't trust us._

_She thinks we're with Onyxia._

_Onyxia… _A snort from the tired voice. Memories; fond memories laced with guilt and fear. A woman with a sharp face and a wry smirk. Bleached, stone walls. Candlelight, a chessboard, a book. Love that had never faded, leaden with guilt. _I wish this was over. She's done enough damage._

A third, soft voice. _Sir, when you are weak, we will be strong for you. We may be alone, but we are alone together._

A fourth voice whispered in a language that made Wrathion shudder.

The tired voice said, _oh, for the love of the Light, N'zoth, shut the hell up. Nobody gives a shit._

_It's alright, sir_, said the third voice. _Not much longer. You must persist, you must hang on._

_It's like a goddamn party in here_, said the tired voice. _Everyone's trashing the place, someone's pissed on my desk, it's four in the morning and nobody's leaving! One day, I'm going to sit down and think, and I won't have to listen to dragons, evil orcs, tentacles or dead people… no offence._

_None taken, sir, _said the soft voice._ You are tired, I understand._

_I should start charging you all rent. You are the worst tenants ever._

The Old God continued its whispers.

_Ugh_, said the tired voice. _Where the hell is Onyxia? If she wants to torture me she should just keep on hiding. _

A gnome. Golden hair. A smiling face. An infirmary, with Samia Inkling cradling a newborn in a bed, with the gnome nearby._ Hora_. Her name was Hora.

_Someone once told me that the tougher your outside was, the softer your insides are_, said the tired voice._ but in her case I'm pretty sure she's cold to the core. Damn Bronze dragons. Still, I wonder, if Bronzes are good why did she lie like that? What was the purpose?_

Wrathion detached himself from the Steward's mind. Oh, but it _was_ true. Take Nalice; nasty, poisonous, corrosive Nalice. Oh, certainly, she _had_ a tough exterior that was the envy of any decent Black dragon, but it was only that: an exterior. Inside she was even more pathetic than most mortals, possessing neither of the aptitudes of her powerful parents and having only ever had one mate in her six thousand years of life.

_One._

Wow. Even Sabellian had once had four at once, and _he_ was the Black Dragonflight's pariah.

And Nalice's relationship with Serinar was the definition you found when you looked up "it's complicated." Both were attached to each other, but, of course, _real _Black dragons didn't communicate, _real _Black dragons didn't show attachment or emotion so therefore both thought they were hated by the other.

It was the stupidest thing Wrathion had _ever_ come across in his mental wanderings of Azeroth.

Between Samia Inkling acting like a moron on the ship to Menethil Harbour, Sabellian acting like he had brain damage, Nalice being stupid over Serinar and Serinar being stupid over Nalice, and Onyxia having lost her spark since her death, Wrathion was forced to come to one conclusion:

The Black Dragonflight was full of idiots.

Unfortunately, there wasn't a light at the end of the tunnel. Onyxia spent most of her time sitting on that beach next to her children. Nalice manned her breeding cavern like it was the last bastion of dragonity. Sabellian spent a lot of time sleeping, growling over headaches or apparently fretting over his human toy. Serinar was restlessly in and out of the cavern, returning every few days to add to the stockpile of frozen fruit and vegetables.

Every now and then Serinar dropped a wordless offering in front of Nalice like a bird gathering nest materials for his mate; a chisel, a half-cut gem long forgotten by a mercenary, a broken violin covered in mould. Rather than discard the garbage Nalice used the chisel to cut the brittle crystals she stole from her father, made a tiny dragon statuette out of the piece of jade, and plucked at the violin's three strings, lost in thought as she remembered the instrument she'd been forced to leave behind in the Obsidian Dragonshrine. Whenever she wasn't using it, she left it against the wall in the first place Serinar would see if he entered.

Bored, Wrathion left them. His body stirred inside his shell; his mind wandered the earth. He crept to Sholazar and listened to the minds he found there. Not many. There was, however, one pocket of corruption so concentrated it made him want to be sick. He lurked near it and listened.

He heard only silence.

Hm. Another silent mind, another resistant mind. But it was different; with the exception of one other mind, the only minds that he couldn't see into were the Bronzes', and they were like wisps of cloud he couldn't grasp. This one, however, squatted like a heavy wall coated in poison. He prodded it.

_Hello, Your Highness_.

Wrathion jolted in his shell out of his dream-like state. What?

_Yes_, said the voice. _I can hear you. Clear as day, actually._

He huffed. _You are a Twilight dragon. No other species is so ingrained with corruption._

Well. Excepting the Faceless Ones, and he didn't dare _touch_ them. _It is beneath me to speak with you_, he continued.

_My name is Seldarria_, said the Twilight._ I was once of your Flight, in fact. Have you been keeping an eye on the world, little dragon?_

"_Little dragon?"_ he said. _One day, I will have more power than Deathwing._

_Trust a child to dream_, said Seldarria. _But you are the Black Prince. I would be a fool to disagree._

_You recognise me_, he said.

_Indeed I do._

_No one has ever noticed my presence before_, said the whelpling. _I have been inside the heads of the most powerful beings in the world and they never notice me, let alone recognise me. Even Ner'zhul himself was oblivious. Why is it you do?_

_I am Twilight_, said Seldarria. _I keep my mind well-guarded. I am always listening, for the Old Gods often speak to me. I did not expect _you_, however._

Ah. Yes. The Old Gods. He could feel them, deep inside the earth, spreading their taint to anything they could find…

But they couldn't find _him_. To them, he was invisible.

_But not to the rest of the world_, said Seldarria. _I have heard of you. So have the Obsidian Dawn, and they want you. They think you can save the world. Wow, how stupid, I mean, what can a _kid_ do?_

_Of course they do, _everyone_ wants to use me. _Wrathion stirred again. _How is it you know what they want? Nobody knows where they are._

_But I do_, said Seldarria. _The Old Gods have always been able to watch and comment on our lives. How would they be able to if they were not able to see it? The Old Gods knew where they were all along, and they told me and my Flight the Obsidian Dawn's plans when they were idle thoughts in the back of Serinar's head before Obsidia died._

_And yet you have not killed them_, said the child.

_No_, said Seldarria. _But don't think I don't have orders. I do. Perhaps you've encountered Sabellian, the shaman._

The whelp stirred. That dragon cropped up again and again. Lirastrasza's thoughts occasionally returned to him, so did Onyxia's, and the stupid dragonspawn pined after him. He had been quite curious to hear if the Bronzes knew anything of him, but the Bronzes' minds weren't quite in sync with the world and evaded him.

There was something about that dragon…

_I cannot hear Sabellian_, Wrathion said. _I can hear all those around him, but not him. Does he guard his mind as you do?_

_He is a powerful shaman, and therefore he has a connection to the earth he is capable of controlling, unlike every other member of the Black Dragonflight_, said Seldarria._ He can render himself deaf to it if he wishes. There is a reason the Old Gods urged your kind to shed the old ways. Every shaman controls their bond with the earth, else the elements would badger them ceaselessly, but unfortunately this means they would not have been able to hear the Old Gods either. You are connected to the earth in a way no Black dragon has been in ten thousand years, and that is how you are able to listen to everyone that walks upon it. Indeed, you _are_ the earth_.

_It is fortunate for you that you acknowledge this_, said Wrathion.

_I'm quaking_, said Seldarria.

_You will be_, said Wrathion. _What is your plan for him, then? I am curious._

_For him to teach you our ways_, said Seldarria.

Wrathion waited for the punchline.

When it didn't come, he said, _Idiot. I'm arranging to escape all of this, not to be clawed back into it._

_You have great power, little whelp_, said Seldarria. _Wrathion, is it? You really do need to learn to guard your mind better. I'll have him teach you that, too. In any case, Sabellian is the most powerful shaman in the world because he's the oldest one upon it. He might be scatterbrained, but he has ten thousand years of experience and knowledge, knowledge no other shaman has, not even Thrall. Imagine — his knowledge, combined with your inherent power. You've been in the world long enough to know the drill by now: join us, and you'll get more power than you could on your own, et cetera et cetera._

No answer.

_Oh, come on_, said Seldarria. _Nobody can resist power! The Old Gods said so! This isn't fair, throw me a bone here._

Inside the darkness of his egg, Wrathion rolled his eyes. _I am not your puppet_.

_No_, said Seldarria. _You're too good for that._

_I'm not interested_, said Wrathion.

_Mmm_, said Seldarria. _So you say, for now. All I ask is that you remember you have a rival._

_What?_ said Wrathion.

_There's another egg_, said Seldarria. _Sabellian's grandson, in fact. You won't be able to talk to him, either. I've already talked to him, and made sure you won't be able to find him. He's as powerful as you are, you know._

_I don't care_, said Wrathion. _Leave me._

Seldarria sighed. _Fine, fine. But remember, little Wrathion, just because you're immune to the Old Gods' whispers doesn't mean they won't sink their claws into you anyway. I will leave you now, but we will, of course, speak again. One day, it will be face to face._

_And you will beg for mercy_, said Wrathion.

_Oh, Gods, I forgot what you lot are like_, said Seldarria. _You're all doom! Doom! Doom! Die in a fire, foolish mortals, buahaha! Ugh. I prefer being Twilight, at least we don't act like a bunch of idiots. Later._

Her presence vanished.

Wrathion would have smirked if he could. Seldarria did not worry him.

He had plans.

In the northlands of the Eastern Kingdoms, one man in Ravenholdt had answered the call. The man that carried Wrathion's egg was as good as dead.

When Ravenholdt came for him, Wrathion would be free of them all.

* * *

_**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed!_

_A special request to people who review this chapter: my description has slipped by the wayside again. It's a real weakness of mine, so I'd appreciate any concrit/advice/etc you have on description that you can give!_


	55. An Ominous Offer

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

"This," said Eduard Von Andorhal, cradling a pink crystal as long as his forearm, "is an anchor stone."

"A _what?_" said Nalice, but Eduard's glowing eyes were on Onyxia as the four of them, including Sabel, clustered near the altar in Naz'anak.

"It's rather small, for one." Sabel rubbed the heel of his hand over one eye.

"Yes, well." Eduard's tapered fingers closed over part of the crystal. "The cities use much larger ones than this. I had to steal this from a Blue, and I couldn't carry anything larger."

"The term sounds familiar," said Onyxia. "I believe there's one underneath the magical district in Stormwind."

"What _are_ they?" said Nalice. "And why should I care?"

Sabel launched into a lecture. "Anchor stones are crystals buried near ley lines. They are rarely buried by people, more often the magic in the ley lines flows over a flaw or a point of resistance, crystalise, and then form these exact crystals — "

"The point?" said Nalice.

"Portal technology," said Sabel. "It's the reason why you can't just portal _anywhere_ in the world unless you're a very experienced mage. Anchor stones are a grounding point and attract portals. You see, as the magic flows along the ley lines it will hit the point of resistance that is the location of the anchor stone, and portals can only open at that point of resistance — "

"So an anchor stone here means we can teleport in from Sholazar," said Nalice. "You could have _said_ that."

"This would save us a long journey," said Onyxia. "We have to take it too often. But," she frowned, "I never learned to make portals, or to teleport."

"It doesn't matter, lady." Eduard strode across the sand to the altar. He scuffed at the ground with his foot, kicking up earth and ice. Onyxia hovered behind him as Sabel suppressed a yawn with his hand. "I will teach you."

Eduard knelt on the ground, digging in the sand with his hands. "Lady, if something happened to anyone here, it would take you far too long to hear about it, let alone get back to help, and if attackers blocked the right passages you would have no way in or out. I also need a way to get here quickly; an anchor stone will allow that. And…" He glanced to Saya, who curled up on a bedroll, fast asleep. "Lady, with your excursions, I would feel safer if you were not so far away from your daughter. She cannot be left alone."

"She's not alone," said Sabel. "She's no longer human. Even Nalice won't kill 'spawn."

Nalice rolled her eyes.

Eduard shoved the crystal into the hole, covered it with sand, and dusted the grains off his hands on his front. "Lady Onyxia, please allow me to show you how to use this portal. You do have more investigation to undertake in Sholazar, no?"

"With such a polite request, how can I refuse?" said Onyxia, stepping closer to the altar. Sabel moved to rest on the altar with his good hip. "Sometimes I forget you are a mage, Von Andorhal."

"The Ambassador and Indigosa are Blues." Eduard smiled, and pushed his sleeves up his withered arms. "How could I not learn? In any case, I have heard you are magically skilled, lady, so this will be simple. It is a mere matter of reaching out to feel the magic of the anchor stone. It is connected by a ley line to the stone in the Sholazar tunnel. Search for that connection, and open it."

"I need reagents, yes?"

Eduard handed her a small satchel. It was heavy in her palm, and inside she heard stones click together. "If you are taking a portal from one anchor to another you will not need these. You have worked with reagents before, no doubt?"

"Yes." Onyxia tied the satchel to her belt and closed her eyes. "I need silence."

"As you wish, lady."

It was easy enough to feel the aura of magic that came from the stone. Sabel's assessment had been correct; the ley line that flowed like running water crashed to a stop near the anchor stone, seemed to puzzle over it, then washed over and on its way like water. Already she felt the ley line's tendrils slowly wrap around the stone and, fittingly, "anchor" it in place.

Her consciousness followed the ley line; the magic made it possible.

She stopped.

"Eduard," she said. "I need you to cover me. I don't want the Steward to find me."

"Shit!" said Eduard. "Pardon. Yes. I forgot he might sense you."

She felt a blanket drape over her consciousness, and only then did she feel confident enough to creep out along the line. Creeping became swifter, until she rushed along the ley line like a bird, through miles and miles of underground tunnels, past glowing mushrooms and what felt like a couple of undead nerubians, through vales and spider webs until —

She slammed into a wall.

"Ah," said Eduard's voice, far away. "I should have warned you."

She should have guessed finding the second anchor stone would be… interesting. She felt the second anchor stone that had stopped her so rudely in front of her. Stunned, she reached out for the thin line between both, intwined with the ley line, and then…

"There we go," said Eduard.

It widened at her command like a tunnel. When she opened her eyes, a portal lay in front of her.

"With practice, it will be second nature," said Eduard. "If you wish to collect more research, I can keep an eye on the young one for today. The Steward does not know where I am. I am afraid I cannot always be at your disposal, however."

"We will manage," said Onyxia. "Saya is one of ours. She's tougher than you think." She nodded to Sabel. "Shall we go?"

Sabel crossed his arms and glared. "How many casualties will result in you parading about the basin?"

Onyxia sighed. "None, _this_ time."

"That better be the case. Come on." And with that, Sabel stepped through the portal.

The last thing Onyxia saw before the portal closed behind her was Nalice's scowl.

Indigosa had been careful to put the second anchor stone out of sight. The two of them almost got lost through the winding tunnels until, at last, they found the main road towards the sunlight. It was an hour before rain set in and allowed the two of them to carefully make their way down the cliff face into the trees below.

As they passed through the forest, as paranoid and cautious as they had been before, Sabel pointed at the trees. "See? Someone's been picking fruit."

"Serinar?"

"No. Too much to be him."

They found out soon enough.

They made a beeline for the ruins of the Lifeblood Pillar, but soon had to stop. Sabel seized Onyxia's shoulder and both of them stopped when they made out the forms of tents in the trees.

"No death," Sabel growled.

Most tents were brown, the colour of undyed cloth, but there was something incongruent about the shade through Onyxia's tinted eyes that gave her pause. "Those aren't brown, are they?"

"Purple." Sabel gave her a puzzled look. "Why waste the dye?" He lowered his voice. "Look. Twilight's Hammer."

Onyxia peered through the leaves of the fern in front of her. A cluster of mortals milled about. One had a large crystal propped up against him like a cello, holding it with one hand as the other carved its surface. A woman with strange-tinted hair watched, her arms crossed, a scowl on her face. As the occasional earth elemental stampeded through the undergrowth, the other cultists pored over crystals in the rain, ignored by the overseer.

"No, be more careful," said the overseer, still scowling. "_These_ crystals are too easy to ruin if your tool goes skittering."

"With due respect," said the cultist working on it. "Does it _matter_ what it looks like?"

"Your intention is what matters," said the overseer. "Taking the care to make the totem look good will help better with this kind of magic."

"It's not any magic I'm used to." He sounded defensive.

The overseer rolled her eyes. "That's because your kind are far too young to have ever heard of it."

The man working on the crystal totem grimaced, but the overseer's face was neutral. Was she a Black dragon?

Onyxia touched Sabel's arm and kept her voice low. "Does that overseer smell male or female to you?"

"Female," said Sabel. "She's Twilight. This is bad, if they've sent a fully-grown one to..." He looked back to the overseer. "She smells familiar. I think she was one of ours once."

"I thought you said the breeding females were all dead?"

"I _thought_ so," said Sabel. "Seldarria had gone missing just before the elemental invasion started, Serinar was unsure if she'd gone into hiding or if mortals had killed her. She must have been found, captured and… altered — " he shut up.

Seldarria had tilted her head, as if listening.

But to Onyxia's relief, she turned around and opened a strange, purple and black portal behind her. When Seldarria stepped through, Onyxia relaxed.

"Good," she said, straightening. The mortals wouldn't catch her words from here. "We are safe."

Staring at a point behind Onyxia, Sabel said, "I wouldn't be so hasty."

Onyxia whirled around just in time to see Seldarria's portal close behind her.

"So," said Seldarria, arms crossed. "What are _you_ two doing skulking in the bushes?" She looked between them. "Onyxia and Sabellian. Well, fancy _that_." Seldarria smirked. "Sabellian, I know that with the lack of females available you may be somewhat desperate, but _dead dragons can't lay eggs_."

Sabellian covered his face with his palm. "Are you _honestly_ resorting to incest jokes?"

"Forget that." Onyxia slammed a door on her anger. "As amusing as your _pathetic_ attempts to get a reaction out of us are, if you're here to taunt us, get to the point."

Seldarria folded her arms behind her back. "Well, I do have something to talk about with you two."

"Discussion is preferable to fighting," said Sabel, as Onyxia's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "From what I can tell you're just as keen to stay undercover as us. Reds are crawling all over the continent. You fight us, we may as well write a big sign saying 'here be dragons.' Leave us alone and you won't hear from us again."

"I'm not going to fight you," said Seldarria. "As I said, I want to talk. I have an offer. We're interested in you, Sabellian."

Sabel tensed.

Onyxia scowled. Of course they'd watch out for Sabellian. He was a shaman, and a powerful one at that. He was the only one capable of training the Heir of Earth to use their new powers…

And Deathwing knew it. Seldarria must suspect that Sabellian wanted that egg.

"I want to offer you a place in the Twilight's Hammer," said Seldarria.

Sabel blinked.

Onyxia stared.

"You have a reputation." Seldarria yanked a branch free of a fern and ran her fingers along it, stripping it of its tiny leaves, gazing at it as she spoke. "You like mortals more than dragons, don't you? You'd fit right in. More mortals than you can poke a stick at. We have hundreds of dragonsworn among us, and at least a dozen are Ascended daily. They could use a good teacher."

"They need to be tutored for _years_ before they can be Ascended!" said Sabel.

"Why bother?" said Seldarria. "They're drakonids. They're going to die anyway."

"Then what is the point of recruiting me?" Sabel crossed his arms.

As Seldarria tossed the bare branch aside, Onyxia said, "I've read too many mortal books not to know how _this_ goes. 'Join us and we will give you power, et cetera et cetera, then we'll stab you in the back later and leave you to die.'"

"Oh?" Sabel perked. "You read some mortal fiction, have you? I've always liked the work of — "

"You're the most powerful shaman on Azeroth," said Seldarria. "The second most powerful shaman in Azeroth is working on the side of the Reds. Can you see where we're going with this?"

"That's not an answer," said Sabellian. "Be direct. What do you want with me? You just want to keep an eye on me so I don't steal Nyxondra's egg, don't you?"

"By any chance…" Seldarria's eyes narrowed. "Would you happen to know where it is? Yes or no?"

"By the Titans, no," said Sabellian.

"I expect you want to tutor the kid if it survives."

"Which it won't," said Sabellian. "On account of Deathwing wanting it _dead_."

"Not any more," said Seldarria. "The child can't die. New info's surfaced and Deathwing has decided it's better off on our side after all."

"Like hell," said Sabel.

Onyxia scowled. If the child was better off alive than dead, what could Deathwing _possibly_ want to use the child for?

"The Old Gods told me," said Seldarria. "That is why my Flight was created, because we can hear the Old Gods loud and clear, unlike everything else in this world." She clasped her hands. "The Old Gods can hear _everything_. They know what will happen to the kid, they know you are hiding in Naz'anak, they know Eduard Von Andorhal betrayed the Lich King. They've heard you and commented on your life for a long time, Onyxia, it's stupid to think they didn't know where you were all along. They know a girl named Samia Inkling is on a ship right now with an egg. They don't care about Nalice, you know, and if the Old Gods know where you are, why tell Deathwing? They've also heard the Red Dragonflight make plans for the decoy and the Heir of Earth. They also uncovered a piece of information nobody else knows: the eggs were switched.

"I wonder." Seldarria leaned against a gnarled tree trunk. "Why switch the eggs? I suspect the Bronzes were involved; they are always slightly out of phase with time, so no one can get in their heads. The Bronzes told nobody, thinking it a secret, but the Old Gods know where the Heir is at all times. He shines like a star to them because of his purification, and when the eggs suddenly switched position, they knew instantly. They've decided to use it to their advantage." Seldarria crossed her arms. "They changed their plans, and decided the Heir should live. Not that they haven't tried to kill him already. Lucky for him, eh?"

_They knew where we were all along?_

Of course. Seldarria was right. How could she have been so _blind_?

The distant sound of sizzling caught Onyxia's attention.

In the distance, through the fog twisting through the trees, she made out the silhouette of a woman. She was completely naked, but Onyxia couldn't make out her face. Instead, her blackened skin cracked in parts, revealing flame. As the rain fell, it fizzed on her skin. The woman watched them impassively.

"Sabellian," Seldarria's voice cut into Onyxia's thoughts, "We need a shaman of your ability. The elements don't listen to us half as well as they do you. We have to create our own elementals out of the living. Ascendants. People who turn their spirits into elemental spirits. The mortals need you, Sabellian. The Heir of Earth needs you."

The woman shifted. The fire in her body flared, illuminating her face, and suddenly Onyxia was struck with a sense of familiarity.

She'd met that woman before, but… where? She'd never encountered anything that looked like _that_, unless…

"Elementals," said Onyxia. "Like that one over there?"

Seldarria and Sabel followed her gaze. The woman ducked behind a tree.

Wait. That wasn't an elemental. That was an Unascended dragonsworn!

"I've never seen _that_ before," said Seldarria. "Doesn't matter. Sabellian, give it some thought."

"I don't expect I'm included in this." Onyxia turned her attention away from the dragonsworn. It was just like the one in Grizzly Hills…

But what colour was the flame? Damn her stupid _eyes_!

Seldarria shrugged. "If the Old Gods thought he'd take up the offer without you holding his hand, you'd be dead. Yes, Onyxia, the offer's extended to you, too." Seldarria smirked. "If either of you want me, go harass the Cult at any pillar, they'll find me."

And with that, she opened another shimmering, purple portal. But before she stepped through, she glanced at the both of them. "They're boys," she said. "Both eggs, that is. By the way, I've already spoken to the decoy, he's a bit…" She made a vague gesture. "_Interesting_, if you know what I mean. You'll see. Goodbye, then."

After the portal closed behind her, Sabel rounded on Onyxia.

"What the hell, Onyxia?" Sabel's hiss was too low for a mortal to catch. "Why the _hell_ would you want to join them? I thought you wanted us all redeemed so we wouldn't die out!"

"This is the perfect opportunity to find out what the Twilight's Hammer Cult are up to," said Onyxia. "They're at every pillar, as Seldarria so kindly pointed out for us. They want something." She gazed at the cultist camp. "If they're examining the beacons and crystals, their information can aid us. I am also curious as to the purpose of this egg-switching, and why the Old Gods would want the Heir alive…" She frowned.

"If the Reds find us — "

"The Reds already want us dead," said Onyxia. "They won't want us any _less_ dead if we don't join them. The Reds most likely think we are with them already!"

"Oh yes, because if we turn around after this is all over and say, 'just kidding, we weren't _really_ working with them!' they'll believe us." Sabellian snorted. "How can we survive if they get wind of this?"

"You've been surviving for ten thousand years, Sabel," said Onyxia. "You don't know how to live. We're not only fighting for survival, we're fighting for the right to _live_."

"I suppose." Sabellian let out a long sigh. "It is fortunate news that Deathwing apparently no longer wants the child dead. That means my grandchild, too, will survive. If Seldarria spoke the truth." He shook his head. "And they know about Sam, and they must know which egg she's close to…"

"She already knew this mission was dangerous," said Onyxia. "What, did you expect her _not_ to be hunted down?"

"I didn't think it would be _this_ dangerous," said Sabel. "I have trained her how to stay hidden from dragon and mortal alike, but she's dragonspawn, Onyx. I've trained her to resist corruption, to avoid anger and resentment, but I never trained her to deal with constant surveillance. She has no idea the Old Gods are watching her so closely."

"And yet, you're Sabellian," said Onyxia. "I would be surprised if you hadn't taught her to expect the unexpected."

Sabel sighed.

"The Old Gods have not aided the Red Flight, and yet neither do they discourage them from pursuing us." Onyxia rubbed her chin. "I wonder why."

"I don't think they can interfere with someone to that extent," said Sabel. "As Seldarria pointed out, they might not be able to hear specific instructions. The Red Flight aren't as corrupt as we are. They still have their values, they'll be wondering why they suddenly don't want to kill us otherwise and suspect something." He sighed. "Samia. Poor Samia... I shouldn't have let her go alone, I should have gone with her — "

"We need you here," said Onyxia. "To keep an eye on the Twilight's Hammer. The Old Gods need you alive, and they evidently want you to tutor the child."

"But _why_?" said Sabel. "I fight them better than everyone else, and the child is pure. They can't _touch_ the child. No, I don't think Seldarria was telling the truth, she's saying that to keep me around. But it does worry me..." He frowned at the ground. "She must know that we want to purify our race, and yet they don't want us dead. Or, at least, don't want _me_ dead. What do they _really_ want to do that they need me and the Heir alive so badly for?"

"It must relate to the elements," said Onyxia. "I can think of nothing else."

"Perhaps..." Sabel sighed. "Let's gather those crystal samples, and then I will speak to Seldarria." He shook his head. "Gods, I hope Samia will be alright. I really hope so."

One thing was for sure, Onyxia reflected as she followed Sabel through the undergrowth; they couldn't hide from the Old Gods. Just as Onyxia couldn't make a move in Stormwind without Hora altering time to change things to her satisfaction, she couldn't cough without the Old Gods knowing about it.

How could she defeat an enemy that knew every intimate detail of every plan she made?

She needed privacy, and there might only be one way to get that. A risky way. She needed, once again, someone between her and the Old Gods to act as a filter. Someone who potentially had the power to keep them out of her mind entirely, someone who already fought tooth and nail to resist them, the only non-dragon in the world who had the magic to fight them…

Unfortunately, convincing the Lich King _not_ to kill her and the Obsidian Dawn could prove difficult.

But then, she had an offer he wouldn't be able to resist…

-o-O-o-

The drakes stood in a line. Thick, Northrend-made armour protected their elven bodies from the cold, but they clung to themselves, shivering, nonetheless. Some looked determined; others, haunted. Their numbers had been replenished after the battle at Drak'tharon, but none wanted that battle to be repeated.

Holding a cold rod behind her back, Lirastrasza paced in front of them. On the white Titanic-built wall behind her hung a piece of fabric bigger than a feast table. Painted lines ran across it in the shape of Sholazar Basin.

"This is the plan," said Lirastrasza.

The drakes watched, wide-eyed, strangely childlike.

"Some of us know first-hand how dangerous Onyxia and her ilk are," said Lirastrasza. "Those of you who don't will have heard about it. Here's a rundown on our targets: Serinar was a Shrinekeeper. He may not be trained in battle, however he is thirty four thousand years old, he doesn't _need_ to be." She stopped in front of them and slapped the steel rod against her palm. "Nalice, six thousand, has a bark far worse than her bite, but broodmothers should _never_ be placed in a corner if their attacker wants to survive.

"Sabellian and Onyxia, ten thousand years old. At this point it's hard to tell who's more powerful than the other, but Sabellian is more likely to flee in confrontation, so we must treat Onyxia as more dangerous. Remember what she did to the Steward."

Solemn nods rippled down the line. A couple shuddered.

She stopped and straightened, legs apart. "The Twilight's Hammer Cult are in Sholazar, so this mission is a double-pronged one. Not only are we aiming to take out Nalice, but we're also looking for information on the Cult's presence in Sholazar. Our first task is to scan Sholazar and locate any and all cultists we can." She pointed to the map with the rod. "We'll set up base somewhere in the hills overlooking the basin and make a note of every camp we find."

She let her hands fall by her side. "We must be stealthy. If we are seen, that gives them an opportunity to retaliate, and with so many adult Obsidians to fight against that could be deadly, and since all _our_ adults are cleaning up the Twilight Highlands, we're on our own," she said. "We will use mortal forms. There's no use flying above Sholazar because the canopy of the forest can be so thick it's impossible to see anything through it. That'll make our mission longer, but the good thing is that anyone seen by a Cultist is more likely to be mistaken for a merc than a dragon. Any rainwater that gets through the canopy can wash away tracks. Bad news is, that's no guarantee, and if our scent is picked up by one of the Obsidian Dawn our cover is blown. Got it?"

The drakes nodded obediently, like a class of human children.

"While we're locating the cultists, keep an eye on them," said Lira. "Use your nose. Black dragons smell different to mortals." She stroked the rod. "For those of you who have a damaged sense of smell, a Black dragon is easy to spot. They have dark hair, dark eyes, never smile, and the Obsidian Dawn are proud enough they will not be wearing the regalia of the cultists. They wouldn't want to stoop so low.

"Although Nalice is our goal, our current target is Sabellian," said Lira. "For those who haven't heard of him, when he was a whelp he sustained an injury to his leg. This injury healed incorrectly, leaving him lame, and ever since the War of the Ancients the Black Dragonflight have targeted him for his 'weakness'. He hid from his kind for thousands of years."

Lira resumed her pacing. "Sabellian is our best bet, at this point. Although he will have to die eventually, he is the easiest to spot and recognise. If you see a mortal among the cultists that doesn't wear their uniform and has a limp, you can almost guarantee it's Sabellian."

Lira stopped once more and steepled her fingers. The air was thick with the scent of fear, but it only exhilarated her. "Sabellian is our best bet. Given how much of a pariah he is, he may be having an easier time of fighting the corruption than the others. After all, he would not want to be like those who have condemned him. If we can turn him to our side and convince him that the deaths of the Obsidian Dawn would be for the highest good, that will improve our chances.

"Meanwhile, I'm going to have a third of you on a different mission." She pointed at the map. "We don't know where entrances of the Nerubian kingdoms are, so half of that division are going to look for them. The other half will hunt for food. You see, Sholazar has an abundance of fruit, and I don't think that Sabellian would have advised hunting because it leaves a much bigger trace than picking fruit. However they will be craving meat badly by now..." She smirked. "They may not be above scavenging someone else's kill if they know they can take it without leaving a trace. I propose hunting several rhinos in the basin and leaving them at points beside the entrances to several Nerubian tunnels. It's a simple matter of leaving the bodies there and checking in on them every once in a while to check if they were scavenged by the wildlife or by dragons. It'll be easy to tell the difference.

"Our biggest risk is blowing our cover." She laid the rod by her side again. "By reaching out to Sabellian we risk betrayal. He may sound the alarm. By the time we find him I will have another backup plan in case of that eventuality."

She took a deep breath. "Remember that our biggest problem will be masking our scent. We may be mistaken for mercs by the cult, but if a dragon comes across our scent, our cover is blown. Stick close to the rivers, get dirty, cover yourself in mud and leaves and that will help disguise the scent you leave behind. The dirtier you are, the less the dragon scent comes through. It's not perfect, but this is war. There is no perfect." She looked back to the drakes. "We will fly west from here and land in the Borean Tundra. We will make our way north on foot from there to the southern ridge. The trees may render anyone below blind to those above and vice versa, but if the Twilight's Hammer Cult has lookouts on the pillars they will be able to see for miles and miles. Got that?"

The drakes nodded.

"Any questions?"

"What do we do if we encounter a dragon that's not by Sabellian's description?" said a timid drake. He smelled calmer than the others, his red hair curling by his ears. Kazastrasz.

Lira tapped the rod against the heel of her other hand. "Retreat, report back to a superior and mark their location on the map. Avoid them. You'll be able to spot Onyxia easily enough, her form will be undead, but look at her face first to ensure it's not anyone else. She has those strange eyes."

The drake nodded, satisfied. Lira straightened up again. "Any more questions?"

The drakes looked among each other.

Silence.

"Good," said Lira. "Someone help me fold up this map. Everyone else, move out. It's time we finished this."

-o-O-o-

The creaking masts with their sails watched over Samia as she went above deck. The two full moons bathed the polished wood in brilliant light. Even with the moonlight as bright as it was, the stars shone. The constellations were unfamiliar. In Stormwind, with the haze of the Dwarven District and the lights of the city, she'd barely paid attention to the stars. Only in Outland had she took notice of the sky and the constellations. Even in Outland, however, she had rarely had a view such as this until her later days. Before the druids and shaman had brought back much of the flora and fauna, the sky had often been choked with dust.

She turned her attention from the sky to her surroundings. The rope and rigging smelled of sweat, and the scent of the sailors lingered, twisted into the fibres. There were a few lifeboats up on deck, firmly attached to their places. She could probably release one if she had to...

Which she would, sooner or later.

She hadn't seen John around, although she smelled his scent on occasion in corners here and there. No doubt the Frostmoon Federation would be prepared for her to attempt to steal the egg before they docked. She would have to steal it soon to take advantage before they grew more vigilant. The journey was almost half over already. But abandoning ship would be risky. A journey across the ocean in only a rowboat was dangerous enough for a human, and that didn't change now she was dragonkin. She risked exposure and starvation; it could take far too long to get to shore.

Unless...

She closed her eyes and clutched the railing. The spirits of air flowed around her. The spirits of the water mingled beneath her, and she tightened her grip on the wood. The abyss of _nothingness_ below the boat made her feel dizzy.

But she had to reach out. A good current of water would work in her favour if she had to escape the ship.

The elements of water intimidated her more than the elements of earth. With the earth elementals, the deeper beneath the crust you went, the bigger they got, but the water elementals beneath the waves were the size of houses, and no doubt, deep beneath the sea on the ocean floor, they only got _bigger_. The nothingness they called home made her feel tiny and insignificant, like getting lost in a starry sky.

Anything could hide in that nothingness.

Only a few elementals took notice of her, tiny ones the size of her shins. She felt their chaos and distress, felt the Old God corruption polluting them…

She listened to their confusion as they debated among themselves — she wasn't a normal shaman. Orcs were strange and foreign, but she wasn't one of _them_. Neither was she troll or tauren, or even one of the draenei, but something...

_Human_.

Humans weren't shaman, they said, that should be even more strange, but she was familiar. She wasn't quite human, was she?

_I am Black dragonkin_, she told them. _Dragonspawn._

They seemed frazzled for a moment.

They could hear her!

The tiny spirits debated among themselves. There hadn't been a Black shaman in ages, with the exception of —

_Sabellian, yes,_ she said to them. _I know him. I am his dragonsworn._

The elements did not dare come close. She frowned over this, for a moment, before she felt her wariness; the taint was inside her, too, and they had enough of their own to deal with. It squirmed inside them like an unbearable itch they couldn't scratch, winding them up and driving them mad as they longed for relief that never came. Talking to her would only make it _worse_, couldn't she see why nobody listened to her, why they couldn't contact her? The earth elementals had it even worse than they did! She wasn't _him_, she didn't have the power to protect them!

_I need help_, she said. _I need to rescue the Heir of Earth, and I need your help to do it._

But the Heir was fine on his own. If he needed them, they said, he would call them.

And then they would come.

I_ need you_, she said._ Please!_

They hissed. He would call them, and then they would come.

They fled, and left her alone.

She called out again, but none answered.

Her shoulders slumped, and she screwed her eyes shut. They wouldn't help her. She wasn't strong enough to reach through their distress, not like Sabel.

She sighed.

Only then did she hear the creaking of wood behind her. She turned to see one of the crew blinking at her. "Master Withering?"

"Sorry," she said. "Am I not allowed to take a walk?"

"Of course _you_ are," he said. "But it's past midnight. Is everything alright?"

Samia nodded. "Can't sleep."

"Usually it sends me to sleep like a baby," the patrol chuckled, leaning against the railing beside her.

"I can see why," said Samia. "But the rocking of ships isn't my thing."

"Maybe you need something to help," said the crewman.

"I don't drink," said Samia

"I meant along the line of sedatives," said the crewman. "The ship's doc actually has some pretty good ones that'll knock you out all night. Maybe you could consider seeing him. It'll help you."

An idea occurred to her.

"Potions, I assume?" she said.

"What else?" The crewman snorted. "Yes, potions."

"Good," said Sam brightly. "I think I'll talk to him tomorrow."


	56. Rescue

**_A/N:_**_Thank you to all who have reviewed, and to **Diloph** and **Coincidencless** for being my betas!_**  
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* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

The new crystals, red and white, lay scattered across the surface of the stone altar. The light cast by the phosphorescence of the mushrooms that grew on their tall stalks high above shone through the transluscent crystals, creating silver and ruby reflections of light on the stone. Their surfaces glistened with the condensation of Sholazar, long frozen in the depths of the glacier.

The red crystals looked more pink than the brilliant crimson she remembered.

"Curious." Sabel tilted a white crystal, imbued with a faint tinge of purple, in the light. The frost melted against his fingertips. "These are supposed to be purple, but they're paler than the others. I wonder why that is?"

"Purple?" Onyxia crossed her arms.

"I think…" The crystal clinked against the altar as Sabel carefully put it down. "I think each pillar is supposed to represent a Dragonflight. But what does that _mean_? Is that why the Twilight's Hammer are in Sholazar?"

"That pillar has always been white." Or had it? If the red crystals were paler than they used to be…

"I don't think so." Sabel stroked a purple streak in the gem. "If only Serinar wasn't out, we could ask."

As they waited, Onyxia sat on the shore of the underground lake, alone, for hours. The ice walls stretched upwards around her, like sheets of solid rock, and in front of her the surface of the lake was so still it looked like ice. The branch she had used to navigate the rushing rivers of Sholazar lay across her lap, the closest thing she had to a staff.

Instead of dwelling on Sabel's words, she prepared for the Steward by focusing her thoughts.

It had been a long time since she'd last meditated. The habit had fallen by the wayside in the final year in Stormwind, but she had to have the mental discipline to fight the Steward. He had a lot of power, and she had to be able to fight it by keeping her mind clear of unwanted thoughts and her mental barriers up…

… For all the good it would do.

Before she began she had sent Jettion away to get their bearings and scout out the place above. The hole in the ceiling above the lake had gone ignored for so long, stretching farther than any of them could see and betraying nothing but the hollow sound of the occasional breeze. Jettion was the only one small enough to fly through. If only he'd return soon —

Damn it, she was thinking again. She wrestled with herself, quietened her thoughts, felt her mind go still again —

"I want to meet this Seldarria." Nalice's mortal voice cut into her so-called tranquility.

Wrangling her annoyance away from the surface, Onyxia sighed. "I thought you would want to guard your eggs."

"Why?" said Nalice. "The whelplings that have hatched can take care of themselves."

"The ones that are killing their siblings, you mean?" Out here, Onyxia couldn't hear the shrieks of those who had hatched only to die. Nothing could be done except to heal the injured that survived, and that was Sabel's job. "You've never tried to leave before."

"You make it sound as if you would stop me."

"Since you are the one we've banded together to protect, I would rather you did not squander that." Onyxia's voice was short.

"If what Seldarria has said to you two is true…" Nalice crossed her arms. "… Then the Old Gods don't want me dead. There is little risk."

"Have you ever considered why?" Onyxia stared at the still surface of the lake. In the top corners of her vision, little glowing insects buzzed around the mushroom caps. "If you died and the Old Gods could be blamed, Sabel would refuse to work with Seldarria. They want Sabel, and because they want Sabel, they want _us_ alive. He is too stubborn to work with them on the basis of threats, which is the only reason they _haven't_ threatened us yet."

Nalice sneered. "His protectiveness is humiliating. Does he truly think I'm incompetent at protecting myself?"

"Would we be here if we thought you could survive by yourself?" Before Nalice could spit an angry reply, Onyxia continued. "The question is, what does Sabel have that the Old Gods have risked putting him in a position of power? What does he have that they don't even dare threaten him? What does he have that nobody else does?"

"You said he could train the Heir. This Black Prince." To Onyxia's surprise, Nalice sat beside her on the sand, her legs crossed underneath her plated robes. "He is the oldest shaman in the world, and the only one that is not on the side of the Reds. The Reds have Thrall, no doubt, if he's the 'second most powerful shaman' Seldarria referred to. I suppose they don't want Thrall to get to the Heir before Sabellian does." Nalice sneered. "Just goes to show, they think _Sabellian_ is easier to manipulate than a mortal _orc_."

"He is ten thousand years old and has far more to teach the child than an orc who is not yet even forty could."

"_Hmm_," said Nalice. "I see your brat has returned."

Onyxia looked up to see a yellow belly and fluttering wings as Jettion descended towards them. He crashed onto the shore, panting. "It is a long way," he wheezed. "Long. So long." He collapsed snout-first into the sand.

"What have you found?" said Onyxia. "Where are we?"

"There are people up there," said Jettion. "Not many. The passage and the cavern above are made of metal. Man-made. _Scourge_-made."

"Metal?" said Nalice. "We must be closer to Icecrown Citadel than you thought, Onyxia."

"The cavern up the top is where the people on fire live," said Jettion. "Red fire. Unascended."

"Unascended Reds?" Nalice tapped her finger against her bottom list. "Curious, I wonder where… oh, _oh_." She smirked. "I should very much like to meet one."

Before Onyxia could open her mouth, Jettion continued. "There's a few natural passages that lead into that cavern," he said. "I think it was the tunnels Eduard warned you to stay away from. The cavern itself, and we, are right underneath Icecrown Citadel."

"Eduard hid us right under the Lich King's nose." Onyxia smirked. "So these people are Unascended Red dragonsworn?" She frowned. There had been that one Unascended in the Grizzly Hills, the one Sabel had refused to tell her much about… "The Reds _never_ leave their dragonsworn Unascended."

"Where are they from?" Onyxia frowned.

"You shan't discover anything from _me_." Nalice shrugged, her smirk growing as she rose and dusted her robes free of sand. "Perhaps a blast of cold water will be enough to jerk you out of this pointless reverie you've been trapped in."

"They have something to do with the Steward. We need every weapon we can get."

"The Steward's not a threat right now, is he?" Nalice said breezily as she swept away.

Fine. She'd annoy Sabel into talking.

But Sabel refused to say anything after she'd given him all the details. "Fine, yes, they're _Reds_," he said. He curled up in dragon form in an isolated corner, leading Onyxia to raise an eyebrow. She was sure he'd slept twice already that week. "I kept that from you for good reason and trust me when I say you do _not_ need to know where they come from."

"I'll find out anyway," said Onyxia. "I shall ask Serinar, then."

"He's not here."

"He _will_ be."

"Onyxia." Sabel turned pleading eyes on her. "_Trust me_. Don't."

"Why can't the Steward know about them?" said Onyxia. "You alluded to some discovery he might make if he knew they were Reds, but how can he _not_ know they're Reds? They're _right under his nose_."

"So are we, as you said," said Sabel.

"Why is their status as Reds so important?" said Onyxia. "Under what circumstances would the Reds recruit so many dragonsworn and leave them all Unascended?" She narrowed her eyes.

"Trust me." Sabel sighed. "You don't need to know. There are some things that, if you found out about, would put us _all_ in danger and the last thing I want is for you to pick another fight.."

"With _who_?"

"I don't trust you where this is concerned." Sabel glared at her. "Especially after your stunt with the Brotherhood of Cinders. You've already proven vengeance comes first. Drop it, don't speak of it again."

She _had_ to know. If she was going to reach out to the Steward she needed all the information she could get…

It was strange, that the Old Gods hadn't tried to stop her yet. Surely they _must_ know of it, surely they must have told Seldarria.

But Seldarria hadn't done anything to stop her. Not yet.

Why?

Still, if the Old Gods wanted her and the others to live, they must have complete and utter faith that the Steward wouldn't kill them.

… Or they counted on Onyxia making the Steward worse and turning him to the side of the Old Gods.

Titans _damn i_t.

For now, she had to forget that. For now, she had to practice her mental discipline. She would see the Steward, soon, and no amount of practice would be enough, especially at such short notice...

But better late than never.

-o-O-o-

"Great," said Nalice. "Twilight scum. My favourite kind."

In the jungle with the canopy blotting out the light and vines strewn about covered in moisture and mist, Seldarria, up to her knees in mud, gave Nalice a chilly stare. "The amazing Nalice! Your reputation precedes you like a bad smell."

"That stench is probably _you_." Nalice yawned.

"Only probably?" Seldarria crossed her arms.

The Obsidian Dawn had ventured out in a storm, having left Saya and Jettion in the caves, but it had passed faster than the three of them had anticipated and now sunlight streamed through the gaps in the dripping leaves above. With the teleportation reagents in a satchel tied to her belt, Onyxia felt little fear in leaving the children with one another. They weren't _human_ children, after all, incapable of being left alone together. If either one attacked the other, she trusted them both not to lie down and _die_ like weaklings, and Jettion knew better than to kill. Onyxia had made sure to put the fear of the Titans into him before she left.

The humidity stuck to Onyxia's skin, so intense that if she wasn't dead she'd think she was sweating. Sabel's hair, sodden by the storm, refused to dry and lay pasted to his face. Onyxia sat down in a puddle on a rock. Given how soaked she was, she wouldn't have been surprised if the action made her _drier_.

"Once you two are done," said Sabel. "Care to tell me what you want me to do here, Seldarria?"

"Not while they're watching." Seldarria sniffed.

"I'm not leaving," said Onyxia.

"Neither am I," said Nalice airily. "As much as I despise my aunt, we do have one thing in common: when we want something, _don't_ get in our way."

"Should you really be making threats?" Seldarria's eyes narrowed.

Sabel yawned. Onyxia wasn't certain if it was out of exhaustion, boredom, or both. He was always tired, these days.

"Since the Old Gods told you where we were all along..." Nalice crossed her arms. "Plainly you want us alive. So yes, I will make as many threats as I damn well _like_."

"Fine," said Seldarria flatly. "But remember, you two. The Old Gods are watching." She gave Onyxia a pointed, hateful look. "_I know everything you're planning._"

"Please!" said Onyxia. "Do tell everyone what these plans might be."

Sabel gave her a suspicious look. "What are you up to?"

Seldarria glared at Onyxia for a long moment, before Seldarria snorted. "What does it matter?"

Hmm. So the Old Gods _did_ want her to find the Steward, and didn't want Sabel to stop her.

Was she wandering into a trap?

But she needed him and the shield over her mind he had the potential to provide. She needed the privacy to make plans against the Old Gods. New plans, new plans that they _didn't_ know inside and out.

"We already know that the pillars each correspond to a Dragonflight," said Onyxia. "Do not attempt to hide anything from us."

"Hmm, yes, it was impressive that you figured that out." Seldarria glanced behind her. The ruined Lifeblood beacon lay partially obscured by tents, vines and one large tree.

"What I want to know is why the Glimmering Pillar is white," said Onyxia. "And why the Lifeblood Pillar has turned pink."

"Surely you can guess?"

"Since they are the palest of the crystals…" Onyxia frowned. "It's simple. Corruption. As each Flight grows more corrupt, the crystals pale and lose their natural power. The Black Dragonflight has been corrupt for ten thousand years, which is why the crystals are white, and the Red Dragonflight's corruption has been accelerated in recent years."

"Perhaps you're not a complete idiot." Seldarria gestured them into the camp. She tugged vines away from the Lifeblood beacon. "Ugh, I only pulled off a few vines last _week_, they grow like weeds. But, yes, I may as well tell you what we're doing here since you're bound to figure it all out. We're trying to restore each of the pillars. Each of them need recharging, but the Lifeblood and Glimmering pillars need more than the rest do."

"Why?" said Nalice flatly. "Wouldn't your masters prefer them destroyed, since they're Titanic?"

"Isn't it in your best interests to help?" Something hissed at Seldarria's feet. She picked up a snake by the tail and idly tossed it at Nalice. Nalice caught it with one hand, and wrung its neck. Sabel winced. Seldarria picked a tarantula off the beacon and said, "You do want to purify your Flight, after all, and the beacons would offer far more power if they were restored."

"Except you don't want to purify the Flight, you have something _else_ in mind."

"Obviously. It's unfortunate that getting closer to my goals means you get closer to your own, but it's another risk we have to take."

"What's the catch?" said Onyxia. "You could kill us and restore them yourselves without any risk."

"No, we couldn't." Seldarria offered the tarantula to Nalice. Nalice took it and placed it on Sabel's head. He pretended not to notice. "Otherwise you'd be dead. There's no risk, because we always know what you're thinking, and believe me, Onyxia, nothing can change that." She gave Onyxia a pointed look. Sabel quietly reached up a hand above his head, and sighed when fangs latched onto his finger. "The Flight's not about to be purified by _your_ attempts any time soon."

"It's the Glimmering Pillar." Sabel's hand was stuck through with tiny quills from the tarantula's body, but finally managed to detach the spider from his hair. He chucked it into a pile of fern leaves, and set to work gingerly removing the needles from his skin. "You won't be able to restore it in its state of deterioration because our Flight is corrupt. However, you may be able to patch up the damage with a pure source of earth…"

"Which is what you want the Black Prince for," Onyxia realised. "Sabel could teach the child to harness his magic, that magic gets fed into the Glimmering Pillar, and then the beacon there is restored."

"Now can you see why it is in your best interests to help?" Seldarria tilted her head. "Feed the Black Prince's magic into that beacon, calibrate it to work with that Eye of the Watchers device that's in Wyrmrest…" Onyxia had a feeling there might be a few Twilight Hammer-affiliated thieves trying to sneak into Wyrmrest to get rid of it in order to sabotage them. She made the mental note to mention this to Eduard. "… And you have a weapon that will purify your Flight."

"It's not as simple as that, is it?" said Sabel. "Or you wouldn't be giving it away. You're going to kill us once the Glimmering Pillar is restored, because then you'll have no use for us, and you _don't_ want us purified. The Heir of Earth especially will be in danger."

"Do I look like I can fight several fully-grown dragons by myself?" Seldarria rose her hands as if in supplication.

"No, but you could set the rest of the world on us," said Sabel. "Helping you is too dangerous."

"But it's a risk you have to take," said Seldarria. "It's a risk the _Old Gods_ have to take. Fortunately, as omniscient as they are, they have the upper hand."

"And what are they going to do with those pillars once they're restored?" said Onyxia. "And how do you plan on restoring the others? Wouldn't you need a pure source for _them_, too?"

"For the first question, I'm not stupid enough to tell you," said Seldarria. "For your second, I'll tell you closer to the time, because I know better than to make myself redundant to you. For the third question, no, not _necessarily_. All the Flights are corrupt, to varying degrees, but the Glimmering Pillar is the only pillar that needs a dragon to charge it."

"What about the Red pillar?"

Seldarria gestured back to the camp. Several pinkish red totems lay scattered around the tent. "They need an extra power source, too, but that's what this _basin_ is for. It's teeming with life energy, and that life energy is what will restore the Red beacon."

"But that life energy _came_ from…" Sabel frowned. "No, wait, it's been destroyed long enough…"

"It didn't come from the beacon, actually." Seldarria picked up a smaller totem, the size of her hand. "The Titans put the life energy into the basin. All the beacons did was maintain it. Although the Lifeblood Pillar was destroyed, it never fully stopped working, it only malfunctioned, which was what allowed the Scourge to invade during the Northrend Campaign. Due to some of the magic we've been using on the beacon, we've managed to get it working again, even _with_ its corruption and destroyed state. See?"

Seldarria gestured to the beacon. Onyxia looked closely.

Right at the place where the beacon touched the undergrowth, she could make out a few tiny vines already growing where Seldarria had ripped out their forerunners.

"It's not just the power of the other beacons that has made the Lost Lands grow back so quickly," said Seldarria. "We ran a test, and fed a little of the natural power of the Red Flight into the beacon some time ago, and this was the result. Each beacon, by the time we're done, will have the power their Flight represents. Life, dream, magic, time and earth."

"It won't be nearly as powerful as the Aspects," said Sabel.

"No." Seldarria smiled. Nalice bristled and clenched her teeth; even Onyxia, with all the years she'd spent among mortals and their smiles, twitched at the sight of complacency the smile represented. "But they won't need to be for what _we_ have planned. And no, you're not going to find out."

-o-O-o-

"Is it really wise to leave tonight?" Came Clarisse's hissed voice. "It will take you a _long_ time to get to the Eastern Kingdoms, you won't be able to hail another ship this far north, is it really _wise_?"

"It's now or never." Sam's — _Leo's_ — voice was silent in the darkness as she pressed her ear against the door of their cabin, listening. "I drugged the soup tonight. They oughta be dead to the world."

"The rest of us will still be here," said Clarisse, hovering nearby.

"You won't get blamed." Quietly, Sam opened the door. "I can guarantee it."

It was a lie, of course. Clarisse didn't ask for elaboration; she trusted Leonardo Withering.

Sam had no choice but to leave Clarisse, Twisty and Gavel in the lurch. Last time she'd tried to do the right thing during an important mission…

Well.

Onyxia had _died_.

They'd be alright. They wouldn't die, they'd only be arrested, and sooner or later the real Leo would express confusion over it, and they'd realise what had happened. Sam would be long gone by then.

Now to see how it would turn out...

It was midnight. Gavel and Twisty were in their cabin asleep, and Clarisse had sabotaged one of the lifeboats half an hour before under the cover of darkness. Early in the evening the Frostmoon night elf had disappeared into his quarters with a tureen of soup, too big for him to eat alone. John must be holed up in there, guarding the egg.

Well, he sure as hell wouldn't be awake right now.

"Come on." Sam moved through the doorway.

The ship was silent at that time of night. The ship creaked as it swayed in the water. The crew may have been unworried about seeing people walking around at night, having complete faith in the Brotherhood of Cinders and Frostmoon Federation not to steal from the merchants and other passengers, but if Sam could avoid having Clarisse being seen, she would. Both women slipped into stealth as they stepped into the corridor. Sam was careful with her footsteps, stepping along the lines of nails that pinned the boards to beams below. Hearing no sound behind her, she assumed Clarisse did the same.

"How will we know which one's theirs?" Clarisse's voice was so quiet Sam wouldn't have caught it if she were still mortal. Sam didn't answer.

She followed her nose.

Her sense of smell wasn't as keen as a dragon's, but it was good enough. She could smell the mixture of scents left on the floorboards by people until about a day before. She could identify people by their scent, too. As she went by each door she paused, leaning close to the door and taking an inconspicuous sniff of the handle in case Clarisse was close enough to see through her stealth. The scents were familiar, but not the right ones.

It wasn't until she was deeper into the ship that she smelled a familiar scent at last; John's, mixed with a fresher layer of night elf. It was outside that door that she paused and held up a hand. Clarisse didn't see it; she almost crashed into Sam.

A single lantern hung from a hook behind them. She gestured to Clarisse to get her attention, and then to the lantern. Clarisse nodded. Slowly, she opened the lantern, licked her fingers and snuffed the candle out.

They were shrouded in darkness. No light came from underneath the door.

Clarisse waved her aside. Samia obliged and pressed against the wall. The sound of footsteps made them both tense, but a watchman walked past them without seeing them. He frowned at the snuffed-out candle in the lantern, muttered to himself, and hurried on.

They didn't have much time until the watchman came back.

Samia sighed in relief as Clarisse's tools jiggled in the keyhole. Her heart beat so fast it threatened to choke her.

The door clicked. It sounded like the crack of a whip in the silence. Both tensed.

Without the light behind her to announce her arrival, Samia got to work on the door. Pushing up the door by the handle as she slowly rotated it, lest the door be the kind to get stuck, she allowed the catch to retreat fully into the wood before she slowly pushed it open. She listened intently for the hinges to creak, going at a snail's pace, but she heard no sound.

When it was open far enough, she checked the floor for a safe place on the floor and slipped inside. Clarisse came in after her, nudging the door to.

Dragonspawn could see keenly in the darkness, better than a dragon, better than any mortal. Except, perhaps, a night elf. Samia swept her eyes over the room, noticed the soup tureen on the bedside table, reflecting some light from the clouded-over moons through a porthole. A bulging backpack lay half underneath the —

Bed?

Damn it, the Frostmoon Federation got better quarters than they did! She supposed they deserved it for killing Arthas, but still, _hmph._

Hmm. The backpack had to have the egg, but there was only one lump under the covers above it. The night elf or John; where was the other? As Clarisse stepped towards the pack, Samia double-checked the room.

A shadow revealed itself in the corner. A human-shaped shadow. It lifted a gun and pointed it straight at Samia.

Oh, hell, so much for silence.

Samia lunged. She whipped up her hand and sent the gun's mouth straight to the ceiling. The explosive shot sent splinters of wood raining down from a damaged beam as John snarled at her. She twisted around, ready to send an elbow to his stomach —

Something white exploded in her vision. She screwed her eyes and mouth shut just in time as powder was sent over her face and up her nose. She breathed in and —

_Agony_.

Her nasal passages were on fire, her throat seared with pain and choked her. She fell to her knees, hacking and coughing and sneezing. That wasn't normal blinding powder, _what the hell was in it_?

"Get him out!" came the night elf's booming voice, accompanied by a thud and a grunt from Clarisse's direction. "If it kills him we're _all_ going down!"

"I don't think it will," came John's voice. "I diluted it, I'm not _stupid_. It's not enough to kill even a whelp — "

"_Look at him_!" said the night elf. For a moment his voice paused there, interrupted by a yell. Clarisse shrieked. There was another thud. "Fucking wench — look at him, John, he can't breathe, he's going to suffocate and _then_ he'll die. Toss him out the window."

"The bitch has the egg!"

"Is she a dragon too?"

"Shove the Dragonbane powder down her throat and find out!"

Clarisse shrieked again, and this time it was the night elf who crashed to the floor. Sam gasped for air. Even as her throat cleared it was hard to breathe…

The egg thudded to the floor. Sam lunged at it.

A boot hit the side of her head, and her vision exploded into stars. "You must think I'm stupid," said John. "It was a nice try with the drugged soup, but I've been sleeping days instead of nights. I've been waiting for you. I was only out for a couple of hours before I woke up." Arms came around her and tried to haul her away.

Her throat continued to burn as Sam flailed and struggled, sending a fist in his direction. It grew harder to breathe; her nose was completely blocked and her throat threatened to follow suit. Her face stung. She wriggled out of his arms and rolled to the side, still gasping, and kicked at his ankles.

The night elf cried out. Sam heard the kaliri announce its presence with a screech. John dropped Sam with a heavy thud, and when she saw him hold another fistful of white powder her arms flew over her face. The powder stuck to her sleeves and gloves, but her face was protected. She didn't waste another moment, sending a fist to John's stomach.

She flew herself to the floor. Clarisse was trapped in the night elf's headlock. At her feet lay the egg; Sam seized it without hesitation.

Her vision began to blur. Her limbs tingled, and as she stood she almost stumbled from vertigo. She gasped and gasped for an air supply that lessened by the moment. _Help!_ she called out to the elemental spirits. _Help me, please! We need you!_

Nothing answered. Nothing even looked at her.

A flurry of feathers and the kaliri crashed to the ground beside Samia. She barely noticed; as her world grew hazy she allowed instinct to take over. She abandoned the struggling Clarisse and stumbled from the room, clawing her way up the stairs as her throat started to close. Each step felt as if she climbed up a mountain, getting harder and harder as she ascended above decks and into the night.

Everything went dark around the edges. Everything swam around her, and the tingling in her limbs grew worse, and now no air came through her mouth or nose at all. Her lungs strained, but even the air already in there couldn't escape. It grew harder to keep her balance; she smacked her head straight into the side of the life boat that awaited her. She reached for it with one hand, almost dropped the egg, and the ship swayed and sent her staggering to the side.

In the chaos, she heard the thundering of footsteps. Her terror emanated through the air, sweated through her gloves and touched the shell, surrounding it in a haze of fear.

The whelpling inside moved.

_No!_ she begged it. _You can't hatch, not now, please, it's too dangerous!_

But if the whelp could hear her, it wasn't listening. Thin cracks ran down the egg's surface. She had to stop it from hatching, she needed —

_She needed air! _She slammed a hip against the railing. Reason escaped her; thoughts rushed through her head that made no sense. She needed air, she needed air, she needed air —

_No_, said something within her, powerful and terrifying and only making her feel worse as it crept underneath her skin like an army of ants that had her itching and squirming. _You need water._

The world darkened. Colour bloomed and mixed in front of her eyes. Her back pressed against the railing.

_Water_, said the voiceless, wordless thing within her, as gentle and caring as an abusive parent playing the loving mother. _You need water. Fall over the deck. Go._

Dim shapes advanced on her, weapons glinting in the moonlight. Her legs buckled beneath her. She slumped backwards against the rail, tipped over —

_Our kind and your kind have not ever gotten along,_ said the wordless, voiceless thing. _But this time, you can trust us. You must, or all is lost. Water. You need water._

She fell.

Her back hit the water with a splash. The surface closed over her face and clothes, and the weight of the egg on her chest sent her sinking as it hastily repaired itself.

Sound disappeared. Sight blurred, and faded away.

She floated in a void, steadily sinking as the ship sailed on above and left her behind. Her arm slipped from the egg. Her limbs were numb and without feeling.

The world bled into nothingness as unconsciousness took her.

_There_, said the voiceless, worldess thing. The egg slipped from her body and pitched into the darkness below. _Now, change. You were a bird once, an arakkoa of the mountains…_

Some magic took a hold of her, spending the last shred of energy in her body to morph and shift her form. Her arms split in two. Her legs welded together. Slits opened up in her sides.

Samia gasped as oxygen flooded her system, awakening her with a powerful jolt. A powerful dizzy spell threatened to overwhelm her, so severe she couldn't tell up from down as a natural high gripped her. A few more breaths brought the world steadily back into focus, reigniting the tingling of her arms and —

— tail?

_Now, become a fish, a naga of the sea._

Her throat was still closed up, but she didn't need it. Gills lined her sides, taking in blessed _oxygen_ for her. She still felt sick, she felt as if she was going to throw up, her head felt clouded but _she was alive_, and —

_The boy is falling. Save him._

But she struggled to move all four arms, used to only two, and when she tried to kick her legs her tail swished uselessly in the water.

_Save him!_

She kicked and wriggled her hips and tipped her head downwards, new eyes staring through the gloom of the water. She strained to coordinate all four of her arms, to move her tail to propel her through the water. Unused to the new body, she struggled.

_You have to save him, Samia Inkling! Haven't you made enough mistakes?_

It got easier to control her tail, to control her arms, pressing all of her limbs against her side and wriggling down through the water. In the night's darkness she could barely make out a dim silhouette far below.

_Faster, faster!_

She felt so _sick_, so dizzy, but she struggled and strained and her body obeyed her reluctantly. Finally, she caught up with the egg and embraced it tightly, the surface far above. She stopped herself for a moment; the sudden movement had sent her to the edge of dizziness again. She clung to the egg and waited for it to pass. Soon the world was steady and her breathing back to normal.

Strange, how her body had just _known_ what to transform into...

She paused. Although the danger of suffocating from the initial allergic reaction had passed, there was still Dragonbane, however dilute, running through her system. More and more by the moment her temperature increased and her heartbeat sped up.

_Fool_, said the voiceless, wordless thing. _You may be a rogue, but have you forgotten you are also a shaman? You need not rely on the spirits that ignore you to cleanse your body of toxins. Do it._

Two of her hands glowed green, the only light in the abyss. The nausea faded. The poison vented through her pores, and she swam away from the cloud to prevent recontamination. Already, the nausea faded quickly. Her heartbeat returned to normal.

Now, in which direction was the Eastern Kingdoms?

_See?_ crooned the worldess, voiceless thing, unheard by her and only dimly acknowledged. _We are not always bad, Samia Inkling. We do help, sometimes. Just as we allowed the Obsidian Dawn to go undiscovered by the Reds, we will, too, protect you from death._

_After all, we cannot allow either of the children to die._

_Not yet._

-o-O-o-

On a blustery night in the Wetlands, with the wind blowing rain into their faces, four assassins stood knee-deep in mud, staring at the corpse in front of them.

Wrathion hatched in the dead arms of his substitute parent, and the first thing he touched was not air, but mud. It clung to his wings and scales as he struggled upwards and broke the surface with his snout, and Wrathion took his first ever breath of air.

Wrathion had called, and his father had come.

"Agent Hackett," said the voice Wrathion knew to be Fahrad's, the hidden Black dragon of Ravenholdt and Nyxondra's mate. "Pick him up before he drowns."

A woman's hands, calloused with work, freed him from the mud with a sucking sound. Wrathion stretched his wings in the wind as the rain washed the mud from his body.

The first thing he ever saw with his own eyes was a familiar face, with a grey eye and sharp features. Her hair struggled out of its ponytail in the gale, flicking black strands into Wrathion's eyes, and most of it stuck to her cheeks and neck. One eye was covered by a black patch, but the other was wide, unbelieving… and then derisive.

"_This_," said Agent Hackett, scowling, "is what we postponed the attack for? A _dragon_?"

"Don't argue, Hackett," said Fahrad. "He is your superior. His name is Wrathion, and we serve him now. We are his new family."

_New_. Ha. Fahrad thought that Wrathion didn't know he was a dragon, that Wrathion couldn't read minds, that Wrathion had simply sent out a psychic call he had been able to answer. Fahrad had obeyed the new voice in his head and found Wrathion, just as the whelp wanted.

Hackett's grip on Wrathion tightened in her fury. Wrathion narrowed his eyes as she turned a disgusted look on Fahrad. "Are you _insane_? Haven't I already told you what the Black dragons are capable of?"

"_Enough_, Hackett."

"People have been dying in the Sludge Fields for _months_." Hackett's voice was climbing until it grew louder than the wind. Even as thunder struck above, Wrathion still heard her tirade. ""I'm not the only one with family in there. Most of your agents have, too, remember that before you throw their loyalty away for _this_. Stormwind's abandoned us, you're our only hope, and you go after _scaled rats_!"

A slapping sound. Hackett dropped Wrathion back into the mud as she was sent reeling from Fahrad's backhand. Wrathion did not struggle for long; Fahrad's fingers closed over him, tender like a father's, and brought him from the mud once again and cradled him in warm arms. Fahrad gazed down at him, wiping the mud from Wrathion's eyes and snout. "Should I kill her?"

Wrathion wanted to. Titans, did he _want to_. For too long he had practiced self control and now he wanted, more than anything, to let go.

But what was the point in sabotaging his carefully-developed discipline?

"She will come around," he said. It felt strange, to talk with a mouth instead of his mind. "We must focus on my father's demise. That is worth the cost of any human life."

Let Fahrad think he didn't know. Let him assume that Wrathion thought Deathwing was his father.

In a way, Deathwing _was_ his father. The father of the Black Dragonflight, and the one who held the position of Aspect of Earth before Wrathion would take it for himself, one day.

He'd deal with Fahrad in his own time.

Hackett stared at him, stunned. The other assassins' expressions ranged from surprised to apathetic, depending on how easy their minds had been to manipulate. Hackett, unfortunately, was almost as strong willed as her doppleganger and spat, "No. It's not worth it."

"Watch it." Fahrad ran a hand down Wrathion's back, a soothing, protective gesture. "Head back out," he said. "It's a long way back, and we have much to do. And I better not hear any more whingeing from you, Hackett."


	57. The Lich King

_**A/N:**__ Shit, has it really been a month?_

_I want to say sorry for taking so long with this chapter. Even after my internet came back I found myself busy with RL and TOD fell by the wayside._

_With RL the way it is, TOD updates are no longer going to be regular. I don't want the story's quality to diminish for the sake of sticking to a regular schedule; I feel I've compromised quality because of that before and I don't want to do that again. I've been able to keep up in the past but not anymore, and I don't want this story to suffer. I've poured hours a week into this story for over a year now. I love it to death. I hope that taking my time with it will help make it a better story even as I get busy with other things._

_Alas, also - for those who say the story's getting depressing, sorry, but it's gonna get worse. ;)_

_Thank you to __**Diloph**__ and __**Coincidencless**__ for looking at this chapter for me! Also thanks to **Wanda Von Dunayev** for helping me out with a few li'l problems I've been having, and to everyone who reviewed the last chapter._

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

Onyxia couldn't procrastinate any longer.

Before she left, she tended to Saya. Today Saya seemed to be mentally a year old, crawling along the sand with her five-year-old limbs as if she didn't know how to use them, groping for Jettion's wings. Every time she came closer to the whelp, Jettion hissed and flapped away a few more yards, before Saya advanced on him again. Not sure of how well Saya would chew food even with that body, Onyxia helped her drink some water.

"Keep an eye on her, Jet." Onyxia's vision flicked up to her other surviving child.

Jettion eyed his dragonspawn sister. His nostrils flared, but he nodded.

"I need you to be ready, too," said Onyxia. "Prepare for the worst. I'm reaching out to a potential new ally and it could go badly. If I haven't returned in two hours, get everyone out of here, understood?" That way, the Reds wouldn't have time to arrive, but Eduard Von Andorhal might have enough to warn them if something went wrong…

Jettion cocked his head.

"Don't tell the others," said Onyxia. "Not yet."

Jettion blinked, and quietly nodded.

Onyxia took her staff with her. Well, it wasn't a staff, it was the tree branch she'd used to pick her way through the slippery rivers of Sholazar. Over the last few days since speaking with Seldarria, she'd steadily fed magical reserves into it and carved runes into the wood, and it now had a little power in its own right. It wasn't as powerful as the one she'd had in Stormwind, which she missed dearly. She still remembered the crunch of splinters underneath her claws as it had shattered from the sheer force it had taken to teleport her halfway across the world.

It had taken a long time for that staff to become so powerful.

She would get another proper one soon, if the opportunity arose. It didn't matter. Keeping the staff by her side made her feel pathetic for the small amount of comfort it gave her, but she needed as much strength as anything could give her. She knew Eduard might try to help, if something went wrong. He could help convince the Lich King.

Her offer, however...

It was tempting enough he would listen to what she had to say, she was certain of that. However, if it was true he was an ex-Alliance general he would not be particularly pleased at the prospect of working with a dragon. Still, mortals could be greedy creatures, he would want what she could give him...

Especially after so long being trapped with an evil shaman and Old Gods stuck in his head.

Eduard had warned her against exploring certain passages before, and it was these passages she crept up, gripping her staff in her skeletal hand as her ears strained against the silence, hearing only the sound of her boots against snow and grit. Thanks to Jettion's scouting before, the "nasty individuals" at the top Eduard had mentioned had to be the Unascended Reds.

She just had to be careful to hide from them.

The question was, however, what to do in a confrontation? Kill them, or let them live? If they were the Steward's allies, it would be unwise to kill them. Still, wouldn't they live in the citadel proper if they were his allies, not the cavern above?

Then again, humans could be stupidly sentimental. Some wouldn't want to touch that citadel with a ten foot pole.

She rounded a jagged corner and crept closer to the surface, keeping sound to a minimum. She stepped over mushrooms and avoided patches of ice, digging her staff into the frozen soil as she moved.

The passage grew lighter. As she spotted an opening, she pressed herself to the wall and gazed out.

The cavern beyond was almost deserted. The walls were made of ridged metal inscribed with runes, and looking at them gave her a headache. The occasional stone table was placed throughout the cavern and footprints in the soil and snow had melted and refrozen. In the center, underneath a metal pillar hanging from the ceiling, was the gaping hole that no doubt led to Naz'anak.

But it wasn't completely empty.

Beside the gap stood a pair of people. One of them was Eduard, his hands tangled in his hair and whimpering, and the other was an Unascended. From the looks of her profile, it was the same woman she'd seen in Sholazar, the one that had looked achingly familiar…

"Lady," said Eduard. "Why are you here?"

"You're slime." Her voice rasped with fire, but there was no denying the twinge of familiarity within Onyxia. Who _was_ she? "You've crept me out since the day I met you, and I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you, skulking around like you do. I'm investigating Naz'anak for myself. To make sure you haven't _missed_ anything."

"Naz'anak is empty, Lady. The Old Gods make you paranoid!"

"I don't _hear_ them."

"Lady!" Eduard tugged harder on his long hair. "Lady, Lady, you are one of the Reds and the Reds are corrupt! Don't you understand the Old Gods are craftier than you think they are?"

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?" the woman snarled. "Of course the Reds aren't, they're our only allies in this living hell."

"His Lordship believes it — "

"Yeah, well, he doesn't have the best damn track record when it comes to dragons, does he?" snapped the woman. "He's a complete fucking idiot at times and he _knows_ it."

"Lady, please turn back or… I apologise, but I may have to _make_ you."

"Hmph, acting like a schoolyard bully. I don't care _what_ power the Lich King gave you, don't order me around, Von Andorhal."

"Oh." Eduard had spotted Onyxia. "Oh dear. Perhaps..."

The woman turned to follow Eduard's gaze. She snarled.

"What did I tell you?" she barked out. "Look! Dragon scum!" She took a step backwards, and formed a ball of fire at her waist.

Onyxia stepped to the side with a sigh as the fireball sailed past. "And mortals say _dragons_ are dramatic. 'Dragon scum!' _Really_? You sound like my niece." She dodged another fireball without much effort. "Is that the best you can do? Come here, please, I would prefer not to shout."

Eduard yanked out a fistful of hair. The Unascended snarled, forming a bigger pyroblast.

"Fine," said Onyxia. "It looks as if I'll have to defend myself."

"No!" Eduard blurted out. He ran to Onyxia's side, and tugged at her sleeve. "Please, lady, no!"

"I knew it," the Unascended spat. The pyroblast sputtered out and died as she straightened, fists clenched. "You're under her power, too, you weak-minded _fool_."

"No, no, Lady!" Eduard looked back to the Unascended. "Please, I — allow me to explain."

The Unascended rolled her eyes. "Spare it." She pointed at Onyxia. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You are from Stormwind, correct?" said Onyxia. "I can tell from the accent." Brotherhood of Cinders, maybe? Onyxia had seen them from time to time, perhaps the Unascended was one of theirs? "Must I remind you that it took over forty people to bring me down in life, and not only did I kill most of them, but I came back anyway? I would not take chances, if I were you. You would only die in vain."

"Do not kill her, please!" Eduard tugged at Onyxia's sleeve again. Onyxia sighed, but the Unascended looked hesitant, even if she covered it with a scowl. "Please, if you kill her, if you kill _any_ of the Eternal Watchers, you will provoke the wrath of someone you truly do not want to anger."

"He's already angry," said the Unascended flatly. She sighed, and her fury seemed to drain from her. "He can't get any _more_ angry right now. Although, if he finds out you were helping her, I'm sure he will manage it anyway."

"I did it because we must fight the Old Gods." Eduard wrung his hands. "We must work _together_ to defeat them, we cannot do it on our own!"

"I'm sure he would _love_ to work with her," the Unascended deadpanned. She looked to Onyxia. "Huh. You really don't recognise me, do you?"

Onyxia frowned at her. "Is it important I do?"

"Stormwind Keep sound familiar?"

"Indeed, I _did_ dwell there for quite some time."

"Sorry. _Stockades_ sound familiar?"

Hmm, what was the name of the politician she'd framed during the Winter's Veil Ball again? It seemed like an eternity ago.

… Oh, right. "_Tariona White_," said Onyxia. "I knew your screeching voice rang a bell."

"As petty as ever, I see."

"What are you doing in Northrend?"

"Yes, let's sit down to crumpets and tea like nothing ever happened," said Lady White. "As if you didn't set me up and get me _thrown in the Stocks_. It is brutal in there, Onyxia, even for me. I'll never forget."

"How did you get back out?"

"I was exonerated not long after you died," said Lady White. "Never seen Bolvar Fordragon move so damn fast to cover his arse. I'm amazed he managed to cling to power until Varian got here, even _more_ amazed Varian didn't execute him for his stupidity!"

"Charming. So how did you end up an Unascended Red in Northrend, anyway?"

"I fought at the Wrathgate," said Lady White, crossing her arms and scowling, as if that explained everything.

"… You're a politician."

"I _was_." White's scowl deepened. "However it became evident to me just how few friends I had in Stormwind Keep when none bothered to help me. After the Stockades, life as a mercenary is luxurious in comparison. I left Stormwind Keep and never looked back, trained as a mage, and after a couple of years I joined the Northrend Campaign. There, I fought at the Wrathgate."

Suddenly Eduard looked very, very nervous.

"I heard that battle was a disaster," said Onyxia. "But what has that got to do with this? I thought everyone perished."

"Technically, but Red fire has the ability to bring someone recently dead back, it turns out."

Onyxia paused. "Wait."

Eduard cringed.

"_Wait_."

Eduard wrung his hands and shook like a leaf.

"I _was_ informed the bodies were burned…" As Onyxia spoke, Tariona flashed her a grin. "They were burned by _Reds_? _That's_ why there are so many Unascended, they're all from the Wrathgate, and — "

Eduard whimpered.

"The Unascended have a connection to the Lich King." Thinking aloud, Onyxia turned to the side with a frown, staring at invisible scenes that unfolded in front of her mind's eye. "Or else they would not be right underneath the Citadel at times. Sabel suggested that it would be bad if the Lich King realised they were Reds, but undoubtedly the Lich King would already _know_ that because he has eyes all over Northrend. The problem was…"

She straightened. "_Me_. Sabel didn't want _me_ to realise they were Unascended Reds, he told me the bodies were burned, but he must have known that one day someone would tell me the Red Flight was responsible. If the Red Flight purged the battlefield, if _you_ survived, then that means Bolvar Fordragon survived, and there's…."

If men could be puddles, Eduard would have melted into one from the power of her glare.

Her voice was quiet as she said to him, "And there's only one person Tirion Fordring would trust with the burden of the Helm of Domination. Someone who'd already had experience fighting off corruption and mind control. Someone the world thought was dead._ Fordragon._"

"Give yourself a chocolate mouse!" said Tariona. "Oh, I would _love_ to watch this particular reunion. Not sure who I'd cheer for, I hate you both, so I guess I win no matter who kills who."

Onyxia racked her brains. In Naz'anak, when she had channeled Eduard, he had understood the questions of the other dragons even though they were posed in Draconic, and if he had a link with Indigosa chances were he had learned the language through that connection — "_Why didn't you tell me?_" she said in Draconic.

As she'd guessed, Eduard responded in the same language without so much as a blip. "_You would not have accepted our help if you had known, Lady._" His accent perfectly mimicked Indigosa's, without the old fashioned wording. _"He fights the Old Gods, and... I knew you could give him something that could save him. Something you have, no doubt, considered offering him, or else you would not be here._" Still shaking, Eduard forced his hands from his head and rested them by his sides, looking Onyxia in the eye. "_Lady, the Old Gods told him you were coming, but he did not believe it. They have spoken so many lies to him, but when he told me what they were doing this time I knew immediately what you sought to do, and so I came down. I stopped by the cavern to ensure none of the Eternal Watchers had taken his ramblings seriously…_" He glanced to Tariona, then back to Onyxia. "_I had news for you, anyway, the Reds are in Sholazar._"

"_What?_" said Onyxia.

"_Lady Tariona White saw you there_," Eduard nodded to Lady White, who scowled as she heard her name in a sea of unfamiliar words. "_She reported it immediately, and the Ambassador went to tell Lirastrasza on our Lord's orders, but... the Reds had already departed. They had already found out, and had not told us._" He pushed the tips of his index fingers together. "_They did not trust us. They do not trust the Lich King. They will not help him. And so you must._"

Through gritted teeth, Onyxia snarled, "_Why should I help the murderer of my children?"_

"_Because you need his help_," said Eduard. "_He can protect you from the Old Gods' whispers, and he has greater resources at his disposal than you do. I can only hide from him for so long. You have Indigosa, the Ambassador and I to help convince him, but you cannot do this alone_." He gazed at her with the expression of a kicked whelp.

_"What makes you think he would want to?_" Her bones grinded against her staff as her grip on it tightened.

"_Because you have his daughter,_" said Eduard. "_And you can offer him something no one else can give him. You can give him his life back_."

"_You wanted to give him a chance to live again,_" Onyxia murmured. _"That is the true reason you saved us. So we could save him._"

"_He could go home_," Eduard said quietly.

Onyxia snorted. "_Stormwind would never accept him, neither would my Flight._"

_"Then you could at least allow him to go his own way_," said Eduard.

Onyxia fixed him with a glare. "_When this is all over, I am going to kill him._"

"_You do not understand, lady_," said Eduard. Tariona crossed her arms, stared at them pointedly, and tapped her foot. Both ignored her. "_I can only hide you when he does not know where you are. That is why I had to put him to sleep in order to disguise your presence. If he has a specific enough location, no cloaks in the world could hide you from his eyes, and if he sees you only intend to kill him then he will not help you, even at the expense of himself. Please, lady_."

Hmph. She might be able to keep him out of his head for so long, but she would slip up sooner or later. "_Then surely he'd see that I'd only be helping him to help myself?_"

"_It is better than nothing, lady._" Eduard wrung his hands. "_I cannot hide you from him any longer_." He looked to Tariona. _"I must do damage control. I must tell him the truth before Lady Tariona White does, and then... he will ask me to rescind the veil in spite of his own power. To ensure I am truly repentent._" He looked back to Onyxia. "_You will be exposed to him, completely and utterly._"

Scowling, Onyxia shrugged. "_I did it to him once, it will likely annoy him more if I pretend not to care the tables have turned._"

_"He will know you are pretending."_

_"At this point, Von Andorhal, I will take what I can get."_ She couldn't kill him, and it wasn't even a matter of 'not yet'. As much as she longed to _rip him limb from limb for what he did_, Sabel was right.

The living needed her more than the dead needed their vengeance.

"Shall we talk to him, then?" She said in Common.

Eduard switched languages too. "I will, alone, lady," he said. "If you wish you can enter Icecrown Citadel, it will make it easier for him to find you when I am done speaking with him."

"I'm not letting her in there alone," said White.

"Remember, I can squash you like a bug," said Onyxia.

"Do I look like I have much to lose?" said White. "I can't even wear _clothes_ anymore without setting them on fire."

"If you wanted me to call you on that bluff..."

"Cut it out, Prestor."

"Please, lady." Eduard looked to her desperately. "Do not kill anyone, it will vex His Lordship greatly!"

Fine. She'd go up there, and she'd be exposed, all of her anger and her fury and her resentment would be laid bare for him to see, just as the Old Gods could read her. She wanted to kill him for what he did, and —

And she'd make her offer to him, anyway, because he couldn't fight the Old Gods alone. _She_ couldn't fight the Old Gods alone. She had no choice but to play against Fordragon with her cards face up on the table, because it was either Fordragon or the Old Gods.

And as much as she hated to admit it, the Old Gods were worse.

-o-O-o-

Nighttime underwater was the scariest thing Samia had ever known.

It was dark enough above the surface since the clouds had long covered the moon, but underwater, even clinging to the surface, it was pitch dark. As she swam blind through nothingness she kept waiting for enormous jaws to come out of nowhere, to swallow her hole. The slightest movement startled her. Sound carried over far longer distances underwater than in air, and something that moved a hundred metres away could sound as if it were right behind her.

Not that there was much in the void. The ocean was deep, here, and though some fish swam near the surface here and there, for the most part it was only her and the egg. She had felt tired and ill for a long time, but she didn't dare stop to rest. As terrifying as being awake in this darkness felt, sleeping in it would be far worse. She hoped she'd find shallow waters soon so she could attach herself to a rock and _sleep_...

Even though she had escaped the Dragonbane and the ship, the true struggle had only just begun. The journey from Northrend to Stormwind took many, many weeks by boat. How long would it take to _swim_ to Tirisfal? It could take _months_. She had no supplies, she would have to catch fish by hand for food, and all along the journey she would have to avoid sharks, underwater beasts that the mortal races had no idea existed, and the naga that would surely know she was not one of their own.

And she would be too late.

She hoped beyond hope that the egg in her arms was the Heir of Earth, because by the time she washed up on the shore of the Eastern Kingdoms, if she even survived the trip, the other egg would be long gone. Nalice's child would be dead, or the Heir of Earth would have come and gone through the Vermillion Redoubt long ago. She would have to make her way to the Twilight Highlands and find out if an egg had gone through. If none had made it there, then it meant she had the Heir of Earth's egg. If one had, then she had the decoy.

Unless something had happened to the other egg...

Sometimes, it felt as if things had to get worse before they got better. At least, Samia hoped that was the reason for the chronic setbacks that had dogged them since leaving Blade's Edge.

For now, she had to focus on surviving in this alien world that no land-born mortal had ever been a part of since the Sundering transformed night elves into naga. It felt as if she was on another planet, down here beneath the waves, but one far nastier and ominous than Outland had been.

And this time, there was no dragon to watch over her. No Sabellian, whose mere presence could send wild animals scrambling and invoke the most potent sense of unease in other mortals. She was alone in a foreign world.

Once again, she called out desperately to the elements. Where their gargantuan sizes had once intimidated her, in this darkness, their presence felt soothing in spite of their taint and corruption.

Once again, nothing answered.

She broke the surface for a moment to check the stars for a sense of direction, but the clouds had not yet cleared. She would have to continue, and hope she was going in the right direction.

She wasn't out of the woods yet, she thought, as she clutched the egg to her breast. It would be a long time before she was.

She could only hope she would not be too late.

-o-O-o-

Icecrown Citadel was a new thing, less than ten years old, and Onyxia had never seen it before. She could remember the glacier of Icecrown as it had been in the times before the Scourge had come, when it was nothing but a bare animal made of ice, crawling at an invisible pace southwards before it melted in parts and turned into a river during the right time of year.

These days, things were different.

She, Lady White and Eduard steppped into the open air. The blankets covered the stars above, and the battlements, made of the metal that made her feel queasy, stretched up into infinity. No mortals had ever created such tall structures. It was as if the original Lich King had tried to rival the Titans themselves with his dark, twisted antitheses.

There was a faint dusting of snow on the ice, enough for Onyxia to keep her grip on the ground with her specially-made boots as the three of them walked. The ice sizzled and melted under White's footsteps. An eastern wind blew spinning snowflakes over the battlements, snow that had likely travelled all the way from the Storm Peaks. They settled on Onyxia's shoulders and her hair, and hissed with steam when they came too close to White.

A massive staircase lay in front of the entrance to the citadel. Even standing on the metal made Onyxia's stomach churn, as dead as she was. Her head felt clouded, her brain felt as if it were squeezed between two massive hands. "What is it?" She said, gesturing to their surroundings. "This isn't elementium. Nor is it thorium, there is some dark magic to it..."

"Saronite," said Eduard. Before he hastily added, "lady."

"The blood of Yogg-Saron," said White. "It's why most of the Eternal Watchers prefer to avoid the place. It does... strange things to a living person's mind." She shrugged. "We usually live in the place you saw, but even then we can only stay there a few days at a time before we move out and wander Northrend, because sometimes even staying in _Icecrown_ is too much to us."

"You must be especially sensitive to its influence, then," said Onyxia.

And so would her and her kin. For the love of the Titans, could anything get _worse_?

"Bolvar's magic keeps those of us who want to alive," White went on. "The rest declined his offer, withered away and died. We wander Northrend because there's nothing else to do, and everything stays out of our path anyway, and he can always use extra eyes, especially now that most of the Scourge is dead and the black spots of his sight are now bigger than ever without as many of their eyes to see through. We can't talk to him the way Eduard can, but we can at least go on in some crude mockery of existence."

"I've never seen blood so... malleable." Onyxia listened to the way her boots clanged against the evil metal. "Little wonder it gets under my skin just to be on top of it."

"Guess what the best part is?" said White. "Bolvar's been surrounded by it for a year now. _Surprise_!"

"… I was wrong, things _can_ get worse."

"_Ha_." White's stern voice softened. "He can't get away from it, unlike the Watchers. The Helm of Domination is made of elementium, though, thank the Light for small mercies. It was made long before saronite was discovered. Still, he's surrounded by enough of it that it... doesn't have a good affect on him." She glanced at Onyxia. "I don't like this, but I feel indebted to warn you, anyway. He's not the person he once was. Ner'zhul's still alive in that helm and he's fighting a war on _that_ front, he's controlling what's left of the Scourge, the saronite is driving him crazy, _and_ the Old Gods are constantly harassing him."

"So he's off the deep end. I'll keep that in mind."

"Actually, to his credit, he's only dancing on the edge. Loses it every once in a while, but largely he's held on." White smiled faintly. "As much as I dislike him, Tirion Fordring chose right in entrusting the Frozen Throne to him." As they reached the halfway point up the massive stairs, she said, "Eduard said you could give Fordragon another chance. How, exactly? He's the fucking _Lich King_."

"The Red Dragonflight used a fire on you that they used to Ascend dragonsworn."

"Ascend _what_?"

"A dragonsworn is like a dragon's apprentice." Dragonsworn used to be a secret kept from the majority of the mortal race. There was little use keeping it that way. "When they have proven themselves... well, in the old days, before the Twilight Cult and my father's return… they were Ascended. They drank the blood of their patron and were bathed in the purifying fire of that Flight, which transforms them into dragonspawn."

White wrinkled her nose.

"If you don't drink dragon blood, it ruins you." Onyxia gestured to White's burning, naked body. "You become _that_. That's what the Reds did to you. If you are Unascended, it cannot be completed by that Flight. You have to drink the blood before you are bathed in fire, but by drinking the blood of another Flight and being bathed in _their_ fire you can be restored and rebuilt anew."

"You want to turn him into dragonspawn," said White. "He is _never_ going to — "

"Dragonspawn can change into mortal forms," said Onyxia lightly.

White stopped.

Onyxia turned around to look down at White. "I can give him his life back. I can give you _all_ your lives back, if you would serve us."

"Serve? No," said White. "Assist? ... Maybe."

"Do not expect Stormwind to receive you warmly, however," said Onyxia. "It all depends on how well you assist us. I want to put the Black Dragonflight back into the position it once was, as a pure Flight. We must _save the world_ for them to look on us with the awe they once did. If the world owes us, your people just might welcome you home. Otherwise, they never will."

White started walking again. There seemed to be a slight skip in her step as they continued to mount the staircase. "I... see."

For a few minutes, there was silence.

"I hate you for what you did," said White. "But unlike Fordragon, I'm not an idiot. I have nothing to lose by trusting you except my life, and there's nothing left of that. Consider yourself to have one more ally, at least."

"Perhaps not all mortals are unreasonable."

"Good luck with Fordragon." White lowered her voice as the three of them made it to the top of the stairs at last. "You will need it. Sometimes, he still talks of you as if you betrayed him yesterday."

Onyxia snorted. "_He_ is the one that slaughtered _my_ children."

"I can tell this will be fun," White muttered.

The citadel dwarfed them. It stretched into the sky with dark, jagged spires like knives piercing the clouds and mist. The three of them passed through a cold corridor into an echoing atrium bare of any furniture but for blue-flamed braziers which radiated cold instead of heat. With the saronite surrounding her from all sides, Onyxia's headache grew worse and she stopped, stumbling in her tracks. Suddenly her vision was sent tumbling as if she'd pitched to the side. Her nausea increased, dead as she was. The saronite ceiling pressed down on her and she leaned against the wall. Her shoulder tingled with the contact, making her feel worse.

White turned to regard her with a raised eyebrow.

Onyxia merely shook her head and forced herself to stand back up straight. The sense of vertigo refused to leave her, making her steps hesitant and wary. She felt White's hawklike eyes on her, but ignored them.

"Saronite?" said White.

"I'm a dragon. What do _you_ think?"

"Hm." But White said no more.

A circle lay on the floor ahead of them. With Onyxia's tainted vision, it seemed to wriggle like a worm. Eduard stepped onto it, before he turned to face Onyxia. "I must go, lady. I will speak to him. It will not take long. Do not fear; you may wander. I will find you when I am done, if... he does not look for you first."

A massive block of ice suddenly formed around Eduard. Onyxia stiffened in surprise, and almost stumbled.

With a whirl of snowflakes, both ice and undead disappeared.

Onyxia looked to White, who looked unfazed, from what Onyxia could make out. Instead, White said, "I want to show you something. Fordragon'll probably be here in a rage in a few minutes, but the torture chamber's not far from here."

"I eagerly await being shown the torture chamber by an enemy." Her chest felt tight in irritation as she tried to focus her vision on White's face, which swam in front of her. She didn't feel the taint's grip on her worsen by any means. Good, that meant doing something stupid like _fainting_ wasn't so likely.

She could bear this. After this was all done, she could get some air and get away from this place.

"Ugh, I didn't mean _that_," said White. "It's just... listen." She gestured to Onyxia as she walked away. Onyxia followed.

To think, she was in a fortress made of an Old God's blood.

No wonder her head pounded as if she was alive.

"I don't want to be like this forever." White's voice sounded loud in the stillness. The halls were completely deserted. It was as if nobody had ever been there. "If I can do anything to smooth over conflict, I will." She shot Onyxia a hawk-eyed look over her shoulder. "Listen, Prestor, I don't actually believe you'll follow through. I know what Black dragons are like, with their false promises made to placate followers only to stab them in the back later. But even a remote chance is better than nothing, and I'm not going to pass it up."

"Fordragon will soon enough have complete access to my mind." The idea didn't bother her so much with the pain to distract her. "He will tell you himself whether he believes me or not."

"_Do_ you intend to follow through?"

What was the point in lying? "If I don't, I have the feeling I would only regret it. My argument is with Fordragon, not you."

"And yet you framed me and had me — "

"That was not personal."

"… Of _course_ not."

"Removing roadblocks is what a spy _does_." Onyxia shrugged. "Human or not, extremely irritating or not, if you help us..." She remembered Samia Inkling, one of the few Black dragonspawn left. "... we could use bolstering in our numbers. We have so few of our kin left, and even the dragonspawn need bigger numbers. Even if you were to be accepted by Stormwind and return home, even if you were born human you would still be one of ours." She shook her head. "White…""

"Yes?"

There was something about White, now, that was different. Her shoulders were sloped and slack where they used to be thrown back with pride and superiority. Her gaze was curious and yet despairing, rather than penetrating and holding the hint of a sneer. Becoming Unascended must have broken her…

And it was this brokenness about White that pried off Onyxia's armour. She'd acted like Prestor since encountering White again, she'd felt almost back to normal, but it had only been a front. A mask, which fell away to betray Onyxia's weariness in her tone as she said, "White, we won't be able to rebuild the Black Dragonflight. Even if we win, it's too late."

The White of old would have gloated, but the Unascended White gazed at her expressionlessly.

"We just don't have the diversity we need to carry on." Onyxia allowed her shoulders to slump, leaning heavily on her staff to keep her balance. Her head was _killing_ her. "The only children in the last few centuries that were not inbred were the children of older dragons, and the majority of the old dragons are dead now. I think the dragons of the Obsidian Dawn are the only ones left older than two thousand years old. We are going to go extinct."

White regarded her for a long moment, before she said, "You need a miracle."

"Yes," Onyxia whispered. The saronite around her seemed to sing, faintly, as she spoke. "We do. We fight battles on all fronts. We… need everything we can get."

Where was her pride now?

_I think we are losing._

In the saronite wall she saw a flash of Samia Inkling's face. Was the Black Prince even capable of purifying them? What if he couldn't? And even if he _could_…

He couldn't fight extinction. He couldn't make new dragons spring up out of nowhere.

"The Black Dragonflight of old is dead," said Onyxia. "Even if we could rebuild, it would never be the same again."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"To shed our old culture is a great sacrifice, however necessary." They couldn't carry on with the principles the Old Gods had given them, where they turned on each other with little hesitation. "But Serinar is the only dragon I know of who remembers life before the War of the Ancients, and if he dies, we will have lost the old ways forever. We will have lost _everything_. Every shred of knowledge we have of those ways is precious. The only way that is going to persist is through the dragonspawn, and even then dragonspawn culture will be replaced by human culture because we will have to repopulate with Ascended dragonsworn." Onyxia tightened her grip on her staff. "We will not die out in your lifetime, White."

Not unless some other world-ending apocalypse showed up. Hora had spoken of a final invasion by the Burning Legion, something which had destroyed the world because the Aspects had become corrupt…

_The new Aspect of Earth that replaced Neltharion only ended up a pawn of Alexstrasza_. From the dredges of time, from a place that seemed so long ago even to Onyxia, she recalled Hora's voice. _Even that Aspect fell eventually._

The Black Prince needed the Obsidian Dawn. Even when they found him, they still had to protect him from Alexstrasza. From the Old Gods.

"But when we do," she murmured. "The Black dragonspawn will live on. And yet, in a way, we will never die. There will be no Black dragons left, but we will live on as ghosts in the lore and legends of the Black dragonspawn even as other coloured Flights still roam the skies."

"I can't believe it," said White, "but I think that's actually pretty sad. Wow. Now I feel sorry for you."

Once upon a time such pity would have stung Onyxia's pride. "I feel sorry for us, too."

"It's your own fault."

"Maybe." Onyxia glanced at White. "Do not mistake me. I do not regret doing what I did in Stormwind. I cannot ever be brought to regret doing what I must to defend our interests. All I regret is the fashion in which I did it, and even then I only regret it because it cost so many lives."

"Do you regret what you did to Fordragon?"

"I did at first."

"What changed?"

"I discovered he was responsible for the deaths of my children," said Onyxia. "It was he who sent the Brotherhood of Cinders to my doorstep."

"If it wouldn't have been him, it would have been someone else," said Tariona.

Onyxia sneered. "Do not make excuses for him. He was the only one who knew where I could be found. He should have known better. Do you think I always lied in Stormwind? Nobody could lie for that long. I was still Onyxia, if by a different name and background. He took pity on me when my name was Katrana Prestor, he could sympathise with me, but once my name and race changed all of that went out of the window."

"_Dragon_," said White pointedly.

"Watch it, White. I can still change my mind."

"As you said, you need us," said White, but she said nothing more on the subject. Instead, she pointed to a door ahead of them.

Unlike the massive double doors and cavernous hallways of the citadel, this one was almost normal sized. There was, Onyxia noticed, dried blood on the handle.

"There." White's voice was hushed, as if a memorial to the dead lay beyond. "That's the torture chamber. I'd rather not go in, but... take a look. See what they did to him."

"Why should I?"

White shrugged. "Because I think he's suffered enough. Maybe after looking, you'll feel like you don't need to hurt him anymore, and that way we can all move forward and focus on what's more important."

"I don't see the point."

"I used to be proud," said White. "Like you. But now, not so much anymore." She gestured down at her body. "Like I said, I can't even wear clothes anymore. It's hard to be proud when you're so vulnerable. Onyxia... if what you say is true, then we do need to work together. I want to go home. I don't want to live like this anymore, and Fordragon doesn't, either. Only you can help him. Only he can help _you_." Her face was solemn. "If you can feel satisfied that he's suffered enough, then we won't have to deal with any stupid in-fighting." White looked up at her again. "Please. Your children are dead, I realise that, how is it going to help them if you let us all die because of your own resentment?"

_The living need you more than the dead need their vengeance_, Sabel had said.

"I don't ask you to forgive and forget," said White. "I only ask that you put it aside for the rest of us. That he puts his grudge aside. I want to go home."

In Stormwind, Tariona White's haughtiness had almost matched Katrana Prestor's in magnitude. But here, right now, Tariona White looked like a little girl who'd lost her way. The look she gave Onyxia was the look of a woman at the end of her rope, and she was not the only one who dangled over the abyss.

They all did. They depended on this alliance.

Onyxia's children would be long mourned, but the vengeance they deserved could not be sated.

"Alright," said Onyxia. "I shall look, if it will really give you comfort."

As she stepped towards the door, White's voice followed her. "He _is_ powerful, you know. If anyone can help you… it's him."

The braziers on either side of the door pierced her robes with their chill as she stepped inside, alone.

As with everywhere else in Icecrown Citadel she'd seen so far, the skull motif was everywhere, but here it was worse. The closer walls and lower ceiling felt as if it compressed her, leaving her aching all over. In the dim reaches of her consciousness she heard neverending whispering. She thought she heard a familiar voice cry out, heard a scream. Her dead blood curdled in her veins and her entire body felt cold, even underneath her enchanted robes. The floor felt as if it tipped to and fro beneath her.

She inhaled deeply through her nose and, gripping her staff, soldiered on.

She stepped past an iron maiden by the door and deeper into the chamber. Skulls, made of metal and some real, lined the walls. Some lay in piles. Some hadn't been cleaned, and were covered in brown muck she knew had to be blood, with bits and pieces of rot still stuck to them. Or was she hallucinating, now? In the corners of her eyes she thought she saw darting shadows shift to life.

The floor outside had been cleaned, but this room had been left untouched. Starting from the door as Onyxia stepped inside, a long line of soot smudged the floor. As if one of the Unascended had been dragged through…

From White's words, Onyxia had little doubt as to which one.

The room was full of tables with pointed instruments laid on top of them. They winked at her, shifting and morphing if she looked away, made of the same materials as the walls that poisoned her with their proximity. Blood was everywhere, dried on the wood, on the floors, tipping metal tools Onyxia had never known existed, even splattered on the walls. Even now, over a year since the fall of the Lich King, there was no doubt a stench that would overpower her if her sense of smell hadn't died with her.

There was one table in front of her in particular that looked as if it had been singed. The fire in the Unascended that had once been strapped to there hadn't been enough to set it alight, but enough to seriously damage it. It was made of heavy oak, luxurious and polished, as if some sick bastard of a torturer had decided to pour all the money he had into the device he used to inflict agony. This was the table of someone who had _enjoyed_ his little hobby.

_I don't ask you to forgive and forget._

There was no blood on this table. Just singed wood. So, Bolvar Fordragon had laid there once. What had the Lich King done to him? There had to be worse ways to torture someone than just the old-fashioned way when one was the King of the Damned.

_Maybe after looking, you'll feel like you don't need to hurt him anymore._

She didn't. The thirst for vengeance was not satisfied, she only felt numb. As she looked around the room, took in the iron maidens behind her and calipers and tongs and skulls and the soot that betrayed that the table wasn't the _only_ place Fordragon had been, she couldn't feel a thing, not through the heavy cloud that tainted her. Someone had suffered here, surrounded by a metal that drove him insane. The same person who had murdered her children, Romathis, _his_ children. Someone who had almost wiped out the dragonspawn with a single order. Someone who'd...

She had wanted him to suffer. More than anything, she'd wanted to be the one to kill him.

_You truly have no idea, do you? If you knew me half as well as you seem to think you do, you would loathe me, completely and utterly, and you would wish me just as dead as everyone else_.

The memory surfaced. She could remember, now, standing in the white walls of Stormwind and spitting those exact words in Fordragon's face when he'd wandered close out of curiosity, out of pity, thinking her a poor abused girl that just needed a friend.

Not a dragon broken and reforged by something so much worse. Reforged by the same beings whose blood formed the walls of the Citadel.

She wouldn't have felt sicker if she'd stood right next to an Old God.

Absently she brushed the fingertips of her good hand across the soot on the table. Her skeletal hand clutched her staff as she gazed down at the soot.

The Reds had just_ left him there_. They had _let_ the Lich King capture him. They must have known what their fire would do to the people caught in it, and...

What did they do?

Nothing. They left him here to die, left him here to endure what must have been months of torture, and…

And he'd still worked with them. Somehow, Bolvar had kept the discipline to resist the saronite, the Old Gods, Ner'zhul _and_ the need for vengeance, and worked alongside the very people who'd damned him and left him to _die_.

She straightened, her staff in an iron grip. She raised her head. She ignored the shadows in the corner of her eyes, the way the colours of the world bled into each other, the whispers that reverberated in her aching head.

She was _not_ going to be outdone by a human.

Even a powerful one.

… _Very_ powerful. It was strange, Bolvar had detected her all the way in the _Burning Steppes_. The Lich King had barely had control over _Lordaeron_ at the end of the Third War, the Forsaken had been breaking away at a rapid rate, but Bolvar had managed to follow her from the Steppes. He had so much power at his disposal…

"But how?" She murmured to herself, looking at her fingers. Now she focused, she thought she could see them more clearly. "How did he grow so powerful? How, in so short a time?"

Old Gods, probably.

What _else _would it be? Perhaps Ner'zhul even had a hand in it, now! They were trying so desperately to break the Steward. Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely. Why not give him all the power in the world and wait for it to do the job _for_ them?

The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Something inside her felt cold with the realisation she was no longer alone.

And it wasn't the saronite.

"What do you think you're doing here?" said a voice.

Onyxia whirled around, still holding her staff.

Eduard stood beside an iron maiden in his tattered robes.

She opened her mouth to answer, but something about him killed the words in her throat.

Eduard stood there with his head cocked. His arms were crossed stiffly across his chest, and he aimed the most venomous glare Onyxia had ever seen straight at her.

Onyxia went still.

That wasn't Eduard.


	58. Dealing with Demons

_**A/N**: I... have not updated since May. Oops. That break turned out to be far longer than I thought, but the good news is, I'm ready to tackle the rest of this and I have almost all of it planned out._

_Thank you to **Wanda Von Dunayev**, for her amazing beta work for this chapter. And thank you to everyone who ever sent me a PM encouraging me to keep going. It really touched me how many of you asked about this, especially as of late. I really did not expect there to still be interest in this. Checking the stats and finding out that people still read through the entire thing every week was humbling, too. Thank you, all of you. So much._

_It is great to be back._

* * *

**Recap:**

Following her 'rescue', a now-undead Onyxia has joined with the surviving black dragons and dragonsworn, Sam, to form the Obsidian Dawn. To keep Nyxondra's pure egg safe from Deathwing, Lirastrasza proposes switching it with one of Nalice's, an egg of great power. However, the Infinite Dragonflight switches them first.

Meanwhile, Eduard secretly seeks Onyxia's help to protect the Steward of Northrend from the Old Gods who wish to use his power. In return for her assistance, he provides the Obsidian Dawn with safe passage to Naz'anak beneath Icecrown.

In Icecrown, Onyxia seeks the Lich King's power to shield her from Old God control. She is confronted by her former rival, Tariona White, and the truth: Bolvar Fordragon is the Lich King. In the Citadel proper she investigates the chamber Bolvar was tortured in, and Eduard appears to approach her. But it becomes quickly apparent that it is not Eduard who has confronted her…

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

Onyxia's feet felt frozen to the ground. She watched the undead in front of her. He watched back. His stare was cold and penetrating, unlike the fluttering darting of Eduard's gaze. Eduard had always slouched, always been lanky. It was only now, with his back straight and shoulders stiff, that Onyxia realised how tall Eduard was. _He's taller than me._ Taller than even Bolvar had been.

For long moments they stood there, staring at each other.

And then the hot anger rose within her. _You_. She narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on her staff.

"It took you long enough." 'Eduard' crossed his arms again. "And here I was under the mistaken impression you were _intelligent._"

"It's a shame you weren't in here longer." Onyxia's eyes took in the torture chamber once more. The cold saronite walls, the soot on the table. Where was his body now? Up above, on the Frozen Throne, with the Helm of Domination on his head? Covered in a block of ice like they said Ner'zhul's had been?

_You killed my children,_ she wanted to say.

She saw them in front of her. An enormous cavern, the stone slabs cracked with lava._ They looked like dead birds._ Blood everywhere. Blood drying on the stone, on their scales, on their jaws. Their wings had crumpled over them like broken shelters. Some had been skinned bare of scales and were nothing more than piles of flesh, blood and bone.

_You killed my dragonspawn._

None of the dragonspawn had escaped skinning. Some of their heads had been cut off, the claws yanked from their hands, their teeth missing as well. All the scales gone. She remembered the spiders and crocolisks that swarmed over the corpses and devoured them. She remembered how, years later when she came back from the dead, the Dustwallow mud still stained the hem of Katrana Prestor's dress; the dress she'd worn that day in Stormwind Keep when Reginald Windsor had marched up the hall.

_You killed them and you butchered them! _

In Blackrock Spire, Nefarian's head had been separated from his body, hacked off, hauled away. The blood on the ground then had been bigger than any stain she'd seen before. She remembered dead goblins, dead experiments, more dead dragonspawn and whelplings. Children. _Blackrock Spire, city of the dead._

"Children?" Bolvar's presence brushed against her mind as he spoke, and she hissed at the violation. "_Monsters_."

_You helped the _Reds_!_ Her hands shook and her eyes narrowed. The Reds had been there to burn the bodies at the Wrathgate. Sabel had told her how they'd worked alongside the mortal races. _You helped the Reds, worked alongside the Bronzes and the Greens, you_ —

"None of them tried to wipe us all out." He spoke casually, as if discussing the weather.

_You helped them and not us!_ The Black Dragonflight been tainted all along, wrong all along. _Nobody ever helped us, we were hunted from the start._

"And whose fault is that, I wonder?"

"The Old Gods." _We'd never have looked at you twice if you'd only left us alone! _"They corrupted us, corrupted Deathwing. We've been hunted for my father's crimes - "

"And I suppose you _never_ did anything wrong." Bolvar looked bored.

"-We were brainwashed from birth, made to hunt and kill each other, and _nobody ever helped us!_" Her voice was climbing in hysteria.

"Nobody ever helped because you're monsters."

"Sabel's not a monster!" Onyxia spat out. "All Serinar's ever done was keep the Shrine safe, all Nalice ever did was whine and complain — "

"Didn't Serinar oversee the deaths of a civilisation or two? He boasted of it to a merc that helped him clear the Obsidian Shrine — "

"What about Obsidia? What about Nyxondra?" She hurled her staff at him. Bolvar blinked out of the way just in time for it to shatter against the wall. "Nyxondra was captured and bred like a dog. Obsidia was deliberately targeted because she was a female, they wanted to wipe us out, so they attacked_ her_. Nalice is harmless, and they're hunting her for the exact same reason. You know what that's called, Fordragon? Genocide_._"

"You don't seem to care Nalice almost dropped a baby — "

"I'd kill your children gladly, see how _you_ feel about it!" She whirled around to see him on the other side of the table. "How would you like to come home to see Saya dead and skinned because all you ever wanted was to save your people?"

"Hypocrisy." Bolvar's voice was so quiet she barely heard it. "You'd have gladly razed Stormwind to the ground."

"You had a few piddly dragons and dragonspawn in your midst and went and wiped half of us out," said Onyxia. "_You_ murdered, enslaved, skinned _children_ and wore their scales. What I did was nothing in comparison to your crimes, Fordragon. You have the blood of hundreds of black dragons on your hands. Hundreds."

"It's a good thing I had them killed," said Fordragon. "Or Deathwing's forces would just be bolstered."

Her anger boiled over.

She hurled a fireball at him. Bolvar blinked out of the way. Words failed her, and all that came out of her mouth was a feral, draconic snarl as she pelted him with another. Bolvar stepped aside and sighed. "You're a horrible shot when you're angry. Why don't you have some time out?"

And then her body crumpled underneath her.

Her head cracked against the metal floor. She struggled to move, but her limbs did not obey her. She couldn't twitch a finger; couldn't move her eyelids. The cold saronite floor pressed into her cheek. She tried to hiss, tried to call out, tried to do _something_ —

"I'll come back when you've calmed down." Bolvar hesitated in the doorway. "Or maybe you're better off dead. It's over, Onyxia, accept it. You lost."

She felt as if her fury would burst out of her skin. She wanted to scream until she deafened him, to cry until her dead body shed tears again, to call out to the heavens in mourning.

"It was long ago, Onyxia. Let it go."

_Let it go?!_ Her anguish was a clamour inside her own head, a racket she couldn't escape. It grew louder by the moment, unable to find escape as she lay paralysed on the ground. _Do you have any idea what you've done, what you're still doing? We will die out and you don't even care!_

"Why should I?" His voice was soft, almost sympathetic. He knelt beside her, but now his head was out of her vision. She tried to twist and jerk again, but her body still refused to obey. "You've dug your own graves. You dug them a long time ago."

_I never asked for this._

"Who ever asks to suffer the consequences for their own actions?"

She never asked for the corruption, the Dragon Soul, Deathwing's crimes, the Old Gods, death and blood everywhere —

_A hundred tiny corpses._

She'd stepped on them when she fought the Brotherhood. They'd crunched and broken underneath her claws, scattered over so much of the ground that there'd been no room to move around them as she took her vengeance on the guild that had brought her brood ruin.

The other Flights had abandoned them. _They should have known, they should have realised what was going on, but they let us die. They let us follow Deathwing, they let him ruin us all. They stood by and let it happen._

The world was their enemy. They had to _survive_.

But they couldn't.

Her anger drained from her as suddenly as it came. The bone-deep weariness that had dogged her since her resurrection returned with a vengeance. The tension and fight ebbed away.

They were going to die, every single one of them. Nalice's son would die. The Black Prince, sooner or later, would be found again and used like the pawn the other Flights saw him as. How long until he died, too? Would she live long enough to see him go?

The beacons in Sholazar were nothing but another shot in the dark from a group of dogged survivors desperate enough to strike out at anything. The Eye of the Watchers was in Wyrmrest Temple, and the only ally they had in there, the Ambassador, had now been exposed as the traitor he was to the Lich King. The pylons in Sholazar were under the control of the Twilight's Hammer, and who knew what would happen to them if the mortal races discovered what the Hammer were doing with them?

_We need the Black Prince._ They needed to find him, bring him back, and…

... And then what?

A sob escaped her, in spite of herself. She covered her mouth with a hand.

And then she realised she could move.

Slowly, she sat up and looked about the room, trying to ignore the ache of her heart.

She was alone.

The world was silent, here. The clamour in her mind, the stress that had followed her from Stormwind had drained away.

Deep below, the Old Gods watched the chaos they had sown.

But in here, in the silence, it was as if none of that was happening. She was dead, so not even the sound of breathing disturbed the air. Frost chilled the walls.

She let the silence press in on her and yank her into another memory. Green eyes. Brown hair. The white walls of Stormwind. An arm curled around her as she snuggled into a warm body, a book open in her lap marked with Common runes. No sound except for the whisper of pages.

How things had been different, back then. Back then, she'd only fought against one god, one little Bronze who changed her fate at a whim.

Now she fought several. The dark things under the earth. The new god of the undead.

"Lady?" said Eduard's soft voice. "I hear your distress."

She looked up to see Eduard hovering by the door. He was slouching, again, wringing his hands. She didn't hear even a hint of Stormwind in his speech.

"My lady?" Eduard sounded almost as anguished as she felt. "Are you alright?"

She hesitated.

What was the use in having pride anymore? What was the use in pretending to be strong anymore?

"I don't remember the last time I was alright." Her voice sounded soft. Weary.

"Lady?" Eduard gazed at her mournfully as he stepped closer. He offered her his hand.

She took it. Let him pull her up. She sat on the table that had once been Bolvar's hell.

Held her head in her hands.

Cried.

She felt Eduard slide onto the table beside her. Felt an arm come around her, hold her tight as she cried quietly. Felt a cheek as cold as hers on top of her head. She shed no tears, but the sobs wrenched her throat.

Time was meaningless in that little pocket of the world. The two of them remained still for what felt like hours. Echoes made her sobs sound loud. Eduard's arm was loose around her. He said nothing. Made no sound. He was as bony as any Forsaken could be expected to be; his hip dug into her side. If it were Sabel, he'd be ranting on about something or other. If it were Sam, she'd be wringing her hands and making useless noises at her. But Eduard was still.

At last, the sobs subsided. The world was quiet again. Almost soothing. The walls that hid all sound from her deceived her. In here, there was tranquility preserved like flowers pressed between the pages of a heavy book.

Outside, there was war, and genocide, and blood.

"Do you feel better?" said Eduard, quietly.

_No_.

She lay there against him for a few moments longer without answering, before she sat up.

Eduard slid off the table. Watched her.

She didn't look up. Just stared at the floor.

"What the hell is there to do?" she croaked. "There's — " She stuttered. Found words again. Switched to Draconic, finally, rather than the alien tongue Common had always been. It felt like coming home. "There's nothing we can do. We can run forever, but they will catch up."

Eduard wrung his hands again.

"He's telling them," said Onyxia. "Isn't he? The Reds? Telling them where we are." She looked down at her mismatched hands; one stripped of flesh down to the bone, the other whole. "It's over if he tells." _I should never have come. If I'd known…_

Sabel had been right not to tell her about Fordragon.

Eduard gazed at her.

"I should warn the others." She stood, then. Her legs felt weak. "It was a mistake to come here."

"I…" Eduard twisted his hands. "I will come with you, Lady."

-o-O-o-

"Did he take you up on your offer?" said Tariona White as they passed her, their feet crunching on the snow as they headed towards the tunnel that would return them to Naz'anak. "You _did_ offer to make him dragonspawn, right?"

Eduard muttered something in response. Onyxia didn't answer.

Far away, she heard a scream that froze her in her tracks.

It was piercing. Anguished. It was a scream of agony, not the shriek of a furious toddler in a tantrum.

"What was that?" said Tariona White.

Onyxia ran.

-o-O-o-

Blood on the ice.

A flurry of wings.

Nalice and Serinar standing over it all, their eyes dark, their expressions murderous.

Sabel, swearing as he fought to separate Saya and Jettion.

Onyxia dove in.

Saya screamed as Onyxia fastened her hands over her son's jaws and tried to pry them from Saya's blood-soaked arm. "Damn it!" Sabel snarled. "You're hurting her, you're hurting her, the teeth will just rip her arm — "

Onyxia dropped Jettion. She wrapped her arms around Saya, who continued to scream and struggle to tear her arm from her brother's jaws. Sabel plugged Jettion's nostrils with a hand.

Onyxia's head snapped up, her eyes focused on Eduard. "_Help her!_"

It was Eduard who'd been present, with his shoulders slack and his mouth gaping. But his body moved like a soldier's again, like _Bolvar_ did, and he thrust a hand forward. Water gushed from the palm of the mage's hand like a hose and drenched the four of them. Sabel cursed. Jettion shrieked, and let go. Bolvar grabbed him.

Saya cried and curled into her mother's body. Sabel's hand glowed green and reached for Saya's arm. Saya cried out and struggled, but Onyxia pinned the girl's upper arms to her side. Sabel's fingertips touched the wound. The skin knitted together under the blood. When it was done, Onyxia let go, and Saya clung to her and sobbed. Onyxia's grip was tight on her daughter as the girl shook, her face white from shock.

The rest of the world was silent as the cavern magnified her cries. Tariona stared in horror. Bolvar stood with one arm wrapped around Jettion, pinning his wings to his body, his other hand firmly clamping the whelp's jaw shut as he struggled. Serinar twitched and snarled on the spot.

"You see why I call your children monsters?" said Bolvar.

Sabel stood up, hands shaking. "It was Saya who attacked him first. She just…" Sabel looked down at her. "She just lunged at him out of nowhere."

Bolvar closed his mouth.

Onyxia said, "Do you think she's a monster, too?"

Bolvar didn't answer.

"Shut that rat up before I kill her!" Nalice spat. "I can't stand that little wretch! If you don't shut her up, _I_ will, she's been nothing but a useless burden — "

Bolvar fixed his frozen stare on Nalice. "No."

Nalice stopped.

Onyxia stroked Saya's hair as the girl's clinging loosened and her cries turned into sniffles. "Sabel," she said. Her voice shook. It sounded quieter than even Serinar's. "Do you have something we can clean her up with?" Both child and mother were drenched with blood. "A little troll's blood, if you have any…"

How could a child lose so much blood?

"Sam has all the troll's blood potions." Sabel was drenched, too, not just in the water Bolvar had doused them with. "But she'll need a health potion to make sure she doesn't get sick, healing her like that will have sealed in all the bacteria..."

"Shhh, shh." Somehow, Onyxia found it in herself to croon to Saya, who was now limp, shaking and silent in her arms. The girl gasped for air. "It's alright now. It's over. It's okay."

"You really," said Eduard's voice, "did not have to do that."

Onyxia looked up to see Bolvar, still possessing Eduard from the rigid posture of the undead's body, glowering at her. "She's a child."

"What?" said Onyxia.

"Bewitching adults is one thing," said Bolvar. "Bewitching a child? No."

"I did not do this," said Onyxia.

"You compelled her."

"That wasn't _me_! You can see into my head, can't you?"

"And how do I know what I find there is true?"

_You don't_, Onyxia didn't say.

Onyxia pressed her cold lips to the side of Saya's head. Sabel came over with a scrap of wet cloth, and dabbed at Saya's arm. The extent of the damage Jettion had done to her was horrific; scars, healing into smooth blemishes in front of Onyxia's eyes, mutilated the entirety of Saya's forearm. Tooth marks began to disappear as the remnants of Sabel's healing magic tended to the scar tissue. Saya sniffled. Sabel encouraged her to blow her nose on the bloodstained cloth. Onyxia wiped away the red stain it left on the child's nose with the heel of her good hand. "Bolvar, I didn't — "

"You've done enough," said Bolvar.

"I'd never hurt Saya — "

"You threatened to hurt her — "

"I was _angry_, Fordragon!" Onyxia spat. "I was trying to make you _see_, but you're as blind as you've _always_ been, refusing to see the truth that's in front of your nose."

Bolvar's eyes flashed. He went still.

Onyxia looked down at Saya, whose shaking fit had at last subsided. Saya sniffled quietly as Sabel encouraged her to take a sip from a vial. Onyxia looked away uncomfortably only to find Serinar staring blankly into space, rigid as a post. Nalice's upper lip was twitching in the shadow of a snarl.

"She needs to lie down," said Sabel. "Onyxia, let go of her. Hold her legs up, she's lost too much blood."

Onyxia moved to obey, but Saya whimpered and clung to her. Finally, they had success in shifting Saya to lie upon her bedroll, with Sabel propping her legs up on his pack. Tariona hovered nearby with a look of concern. Onyxia didn't even look at Bolvar. Nalice stood nearby, a blank look on her face. She rubbed her eyes.

"Will she be alright?" said Onyxia.

"She'll forget about it as soon as her mind switches in time," said Sabel. "I suppose there are some benefits to being Bronzeblood, but she'll still feel the aftershock of it. Sugar will help. Serinar, didn't you pick up some oranges last time you were in Sholazar? Where are they? She can suck on one."

"This isn't the place for a child," said Tariona. "Especially one like her."

Onyxia looked down at Saya. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Titans _damn her_, but there wasn't a better alternative. "You're right. The Old Gods compelled her to act this way. She's as corrupt as the rest of us. They'll only do it again, and this time Jettion might kill her. She can't fight them."

But who was to say Bolvar wouldn't turn on her as soon as Saya was gone? Who was to say he wouldn't turn on Nalice, on the whelplings?

But the whelplings had been hatching. Some of them had already vanished into the caverns in search of food. Some of them would even be in Sholazar by now. _Blowing our cover_, Onyxia reminded herself.

But they could not stay in the caverns forever.

And neither could Saya, anymore.

They could protect her from cold, they could protect her from danger, but they couldn't protect her from themselves. Onyxia remembered the rigid way Nalice and Serinar had stood over the scene as Jettion tore at his sister; there was little doubt they'd been struggling not to join in.

"Bolvar," said Onyxia.

Eduard's voice sounded exhausted when Bolvar answered. "What?"

"She needs to go back to Stormwind."

Bolvar stared.

Sabel knelt at Saya's side, gently squeezing a peeled orange into Saya's mouth. He looked up. "Given the change of events, that may be wise."

"Well." Nalice snorted. "So the dragonspawn child goes to the city of the enemy. That isn't unwise at all. I thought you wanted your rat to stay _alive_, Onyxia?"

Sabel hesitated. "She looks human enough. Her looking human will make it harder for any harm to come to her, but that does not guarantee it. Humans turn on each other all the time, but… looking like a human _child_ will help her."

"Varian promised to look after her," said Bolvar.

"From what Sam told me, Varian loathed the child." Sabel reached for another orange. Letting a claw grow from a finger, he peeled the fruit. "Still, it is dubious whether or not she would be safe. Humans hurt their young all the time."

"Varian would _never_ — "

"She's dragonspawn," said Sabel, flatly. "It would be safer for her there, but not _safe_."

"Varian does not break his promises," said Bolvar. "I can have Eduard get her to Dalaran and returned to Stormwind in hours. She is just a child. She won't be harmed."

_That didn't stop the Brotherhood of Cinders_, Onyxia thought, looking at Jettion. The whelp looked exhausted as Bolvar set him down.

She could not read Bolvar's face as he watched Saya. Saya had at last refused more orange juice, and was half-cuddled up to Onyxia, her eyes closed.

"We are _desperate_, Bolvar," said Onyxia. "We need your help. Would I risk putting that in danger?"

"You would, if you didn't care."

"Would I be stashed a hole if I didn't care? I could be fighting with my father, not hiding from him."

Bolvar said nothing.

Nalice spoke instead: "This Flight has no pride anymore."

"Old Gods sow chaos, it's what they do." Serinar hadn't moved since Onyxia had arrived. "I feel calmer, now, but I… definitely felt a surge of anger that was not my own when the child attacked Jettion." Serinar pinched the bridge of his nose. "I did not used to be like this. Long ago, I was much different… Years ago, before — "

"So Old Gods are evil and make you do evil things." Tariona's mouth twisted. "And the point of that is...? What, are they doing this for its own sake?"

"So they can escape." Onyxia remembered a conversation in the dark years ago in Stormwind, a conversation with a certain Bronze named Hora… "It was my father who was made their jailer. When Deathwing dies, if there is no Aspect to replace him, the Heart of Earth the Titans gave him will have no guardian to hold it and they will break free. By throwing Deathwing into the light they're quickening their release. If he takes everyone down with him, that only makes it easier. They have nothing to lose and everything to gain by making everyone on Azeroth fight each other. As you humans like to say... united we stand, divided we..." Onyxia looked down at Saya. Sabel muttered in concern. Onyxia looked back up at Bolvar. "It was what I was supposed to do in Stormwind. Divide the humans. Conquer them. If you fought among yourselves, you wouldn't have been able to defend against us. The more the rich distanced themselves from the poor, the more the poor would rebel against the rich."

"Saya needs a troll's blood potion if we want her to get that lost blood back," said Sabel. "She's not critical, but if I hadn't been here to seal her wound, she would have died. Eduard, can you teleport between the Citadel and Dalaran?"

Bolvar gazed at Onyxia for a long moment, face still unreadable, before he answered Sabel. "I can use his magic as if it was my own. I'll get her some."

And seconds later, he was gone.

Tariona let out a puff of breath. "Well. That was..." A long silence, as it seemed to sink in that she was surrounded by dragons. "... _interesting_."

"You went up," Sabel looked at Onyxia, "to make that offer anyway. Can you see why I told you not to? After what you did to the dwarf, the draenei and the night elf in the Brotherhood of Cinders when we found them, after you risked us by killing them, can you see why I didn't tell you about _him_? I knew you'd lose it when you found out."

Onyxia looked back down at Saya. "I was angry, at first."

"At first?"

"Now I see why you did it." She stroked Saya's forehead, again. "There's nothing but blood and gore between us. A dead guild. Dead broods. Dead humans. A dead queen. And now he's going insane, too. He _was_ going insane, before I died, because of me. I only made it easier for the Old Gods to touch him."

"Icecrown Citadel's made of saronite," said Serinar. "Mortals can't _wear_ it for long, let alone _live_ in it. The fact he's still coherent is an accomplishment in itself."

_Bolvar_, she thought._ We need your help to do this. We can't fight the Old Gods alone._

There was no answer, for a moment, nothing but silence.

Then she heard him. _Why me?_

_You control an undead army,_ said Onyxia. _You have the ear of Alexstrasza, do you not? Eduard said..._

_Not for long,_ said Bolvar. _Things are deteriorating on that front. They are as corrupt as we are._

_Soon they will turn on you, too,_ said Onyxia. _I would say you need us, but I don't see how we can help you, to be honest. We can barely help ourselves._ _But I can give you something, if you help us. When this is all over. I can give you your life back._

_Nobody can give me that,_ said Bolvar.

_But I can,_ said Onyxia. _I can Ascend you. Make you Black dragonspawn._

_Why would I want that?_

_Because dragonspawn can shift into whatever they like,_ said Onyxia. _You could go to Stormwind again. You could see your friends again._

_The ones you didn't kill?_ Bolvar said.

_Yes,_ said Onyxia. _You could see Anduin. And Varian._

_I would be dragonspawn_, said Bolvar._ They would want nothing to do with me._

_If you helped us redeem ourselves, it would not matter,_ said Onyxia. _We want to cleanse ourselves of our taint. You'd be cleansed, too. You've been killing the undead, haven't you? So they wouldn't even need a Lich King, anymore. We could destroy the Helm of Domination with dragon fire. Even if you couldn't go back home... you'd be free of this place. Free to..._

She didn't want to say this, didn't want to promise it, but what choice did she have? And she couldn't lie about it. She couldn't refuse to give it once she'd promised it.

But she'd already offered to send Saya to Stormwind.

_Free to raise your daughter again,_ she said. _When this is over, if you still want her, still love her…_

Bolvar said nothing.

Minutes later, Eduard returned. It was definitely Eduard, this time; the undead was flustered and stammering. "I hope this helps, sir!" he said, throwing himself to his knees beside Sabel and offering a collection of vials. Sabel gently urged Saya to sit up and helped her sip at one. Onyxia supported her back.

"I can't stand this," Serinar growled. "I need air. The walls are closing in. I might just kill someone if I don't get out."

"Melodramatic," Nalice drawled, as Serinar stormed past her.

Eduard continued to babble to Sabel. Inside her head, Onyxia felt as if she was being watched. Considered.

_Light help me_, said Bolvar. _Light help you if you give me cause to regret this. What do you need?_

Saya chittered and clutched her uncle's arm, making a face at the medicine she sipped.

_I need the undead_, said Onyxia. _I need them to protect this place. I need frostwyrms to be our eyes and ears, and to hunt for food so the whelplings stop leaving the caverns. I need agents to locate Samia and protect her and the egg. I need agents to go to the Vermillion Redoubt in case she's not fast enough. I need the Ambassador to steal the Eye of the Watchers. I need you to watch our backs as we deal with the Twilight Dragonflight. I need you to watch out for Lirastrasza and Deathwing. I need your magic to give me back my wings_. _I need everyone in here to get out of this alive. I need you to help me save them._

Bolvar didn't answer for a long time.

Then he said, _Fine. I'll help._

For the first time since Stormwind, Onyxia felt a glimmer of hope.


	59. When Night Falls

**_A/N:_**_ Oh wow, this story's two years old now. And, wow, the response that last chapter got — I wasn't sure there was anyone still around waiting for an update! I can't thank you all enough for your input and support._

_With thanks to _**_Wanda von Dunayev _**_for her wonderful beta work. _

_And now I present to you: more misery porn! Things are going to get much worse before they get better…_

**_Warnings:_**_ Contains descriptions of torture and mentions of rape._

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

No birdcalls disturbed this part of the jungle.

A bag weighed down Lira, full of collars enchanted with silencing charms. Even a silenced dragon could still shift forms, but that wasn't the kind of magic the enchantments were there to prevent.

Lira approached a redheaded man crouched behind a tree. When she touched his shoulder, he jumped, but she looked past him towards the clearing. "Any activity?"

"More whelps," said the drake in human form. What was his name again? Ah, right: Kazastrasz. She'd learn all their names, one day. "Look."

Lira flattened herself against the ground and crawled through the muck to get a better look.

In the clearing in front of them a rhino lay on its side, a mangled, broken thing covered in mud and flies… and crawling with blackwhelps. They dug through the shaggy fur and wrenched out mouthfuls of meat. Two whelplings fought among themselves on the ground. The victor tore out the loser's throat before it was set upon by two more siblings. Both died in their attack before their injured victor returned to his food.

"So they came from this entrance." Lira's eyes slid to the base of the cliff. There was a tunnel in there somewhere. "The eggs must be in there."

"And the whelps are hatching and coming out because there's nowhere else to find food," said Kazastrasz. "There's no telling how deep they're in there, though. It must be deep, the Obsidian Dawn aren't stupid. If any of them know their way out, the children would have followed the scent to the open air."

"So we can follow that same scent back to the eggs, and when we find the eggs…"

"We find Nalice." Kazastrasz tensed as the wind changed, but they were still downwind of the whelplings, and both dragons relaxed. "But what else will we find?"

"It's too risky to investigate immediately, but for now, let's — "

Kazastrasz flinched beside her, just as movement above the cliff's face caught her eye.

_It's our lucky day._ Lira grinned.

A robed figure stepped from behind bare rock. Even in mortal form she could pick out long hair, a dark face and dark eyes. _Shrinekeeper!_ Lira could have trilled. _It has been too long, mm?_

Lira's eyes probed the foliage surrounding the clearing, sticking out her tongue to check the direction of the wind. Downwind of the whelps — and downwind of Serinar — she glimpsed a handful of human drakes until they ducked out of sight. Allowing the leaves to mask her face, she watched Serinar descend the narrow path down the cliff. He kept glancing back at the tunnel entrance and shaking his head.

Lira pulled a collar from her bag.

Serinar slowed his steps as he came to the bottom of the slope. He caught sight of the whelplings and frowned. The whelplings bickered among themselves and feasted on the corpse in front of them without paying him any attention.

His eyes moved over Lira. She froze, not daring to breathe. Kazastrasz squatted stonelike beside her.

But Serinar failed to see them.

Serinar's eyes probed his surroundings in vain. The drakes were so silent Lira wondered if they had not fled. The minutes ticked on before Serinar finally relaxed and stepped closer to the corpse to inspect it.

Lira wasted no time. "Attack!"

Half a dozen humanoids shifted into drake form and flung themselves from the bushes.

In one second, Serinar was on the ground. In two, a drake had him pinned by the throat. In three, the others piled on his arms and legs as best as they could with their bulky forms. His children shrieked and scattered.

"Good work." Still elven, Lira stepped from the bushes. She tossed the collar to Kazastrasz. Serinar swayed, and blood trickled from his head. "Get that on him, Kaz, before he recovers enough to shift."

Serinar struggled and hissed. His form shimmered as Kaz tried to wrestle the collar onto his neck. When Kaz came close, Serinar spat a mouthful of fire. Kaz shrieked and jumped back. Serinar's skin turned purple and scaley, the spat-out fire became a stream of it, and then —

Torra jumped on his neck. She pressed her palms against his windpipe. Serinar gasped and struggled, his skin turned back into a deep brown and his half-transformed hands clawed uselessly at her thick, leather gloves. His squirming grew sluggish, his hands pawed uselessly at the air, his eyes became unfocused.

Finally, he slumped back, eyes half open, mouth still gaping for air. Torra released him. Serinar gasped, and Kaz took advantage to snap the collar on. Serinar struggled to his feet but stumbled. Around Lira, the drakes returned to mortal form. Torra and Kaz grabbed an arm each and wrenched them behind his back as another drake bound his wrists.

"Good." Lira ducked as one of the whelplings dived at her. "Did any of you bring nets? I want the whelplings caught. Don't harm them."

Serinar made a choking sound, then, his form shimmering. He gasped for air again, his talons clawing at the ropes around his wrists.

"Don't try to shift," said Lira. "The collar silences; you won't be able to banish it to transform. Shift with it on, and it will strangle you. And Torra, do something about his claws so he doesn't cut his way out."

"My pack." Torra said, clutching Serinar's arm.

Kaz found Torra's pack in the bushes and brought out the nets. The whelplings took to the air. Two escaped into the canopy, but another drake succeeded in knocking the third one out of the air and the fourth found its wings tangled within Kaz's net.

"Only two?" Lira looked to Kaz. Torra knelt beside Serinar, wrapping his claws in leather. "Fine. We'll work with two." Two would be more than enough to lead them to Nalice, Lira thought as she watched the pair that had escaped make for the hole in the cliff face. Nalice's children would betray her, just as Obsidia's had unwittingly allowed their mother to be eliminated. Although…

She gave Serinar a sideways look as Torra transformed, and Kaz and the other drakes hauled Serinar onto her back and bound him there. _He won't talk easily_. She picked up a netted whelp, watching it thrash and try to latch onto her wrist.

"Some of you stay here and watch out for more whelps," she said. "Catch them if you can. The rest of you, with me. I have some questions to ask our friend here."

-o-O-o-

She dismissed the drakes once they'd landed and Serinar was off Torra's back. Her boots crunched through the yellow Borean grass and Serinar snarled and spat as she dragged him bodily behind her with her Draconic strength. She threw him into an awaiting tent. When he rolled to a stop she kicked his stomach and he doubled over, snarling.

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way." Lira flexed her fingers. The setting sun shone through the brown tent wall, and cast a light on Serinar's dark skin that made it glow. "No doubt you know how the spiel goes."

Serinar stared at her in silence.

A dragon his age would have the patience of mountains, of ancient things that watched over the earth without flinching in the face of long winters and years that dragged on by.

Lira scuffed her boot in the sandy dirt. "Where is Nalice?"

No answer.

He had patience, and she did not. Nalice had already laid, and the whelplings had hatched and begun to scatter. Nalice would not come into her breeding time again for twenty years, but the Black Dragonflight had proven itself to be capable of inducing a non-fertile female to lay. _Like they did to my mother._

"How deep into Azjol'Nerub are you?" She crossed her arms. "Who's helping you? Who are your allies? How many are you?"

Nalice would breed, and breed, and breed. Her whelplings would have their growth speed enhanced, just like Lira's brothers and sisters in Grim Batol had, just as the orcs had done to their own young.

Serinar had the patience to wait out the war, but Lira could not afford to.

She felt the sting of the back of her hand before she registered the slap, even through her glove. Serinar's head turned with the force of the blow.

It had been such a little thing. An urge that felt so inconsequential she hadn't even truly felt it.

"There's more where that came from," said Lira.

How pathetic. A single slap wouldn't get him to talk. What was she going to do, slap him to death?

"Tell me where Nalice is." Her hand hurt. "Why won't you tell me? You're a Black dragon. You don't care what happens to her."

Serinar did not stop staring.

"What's the point of keeping quiet?" said Lira. "There's only a few of you." _Are there? Or do you have allies? Is the Lich King helping you? He loved Onyxia, once. He killed her, too, but mortals are such emotional creatures. They hurt the ones they love most._ "They're going to die, Serinar. The Black Dragonflight has clung to survival this long, but now it's dying out. Obsidian _Dawn_? Really? It's the twilight of your race, Serinar, and soon night will fall. Did you really think if you hid in a hole long enough, the world would forget you?"

She knelt in front of him. She half expected him to spit in her face; he didn't. Neither did he try to snap at her. Just continued to stare at her with those intent dark eyes.

Serinar was an enigma. Always had been. He was the oldest of the Obsidian Dawn, one of the oldest Black dragons left.

"I'll hurt you." Her fingers twitched. She didn't have all day. "I'll hurt you until there's nothing left but pain. I'll hurt you until agony consumes you. I'll hurt you until you can't even beg me to stop, because you can't use words anymore."

Getting information out of _mortals_ could take weeks or months, but getting it out of a Black dragon his age would be next to impossible.

_There's no time._ Every second that passed was another second that Deathwing could be using Nalice. Even if the Obsidian Dawn had _truly_ defected from Deathwing, the Destroyer would want her. He would find her. Then, if she was lucky, she'd survive to lay his eggs. She would _breed_.

_He wouldn't care she's his granddaughter. Incest is rife among them._

"Is that what you want?" She slapped him again. Her hand hurt, but it was a good hurt.

He never stopped staring.

Something in those eyes triggered something feral in her. Her vision turned red, her body seared with heat and her arms struck out. Her knuckles hurt as they connected with hard bone; her other fist went into his stomach and she heard him gasp for air. Her claws erupted from her fingertips and raked him. She heard the tear of cloth, smelt blood, heard the snarl in his voice, heard his breathing hitch. Still, the heat didn't leave her, the fury only grew, and she ripped and shredded and tore and bit. Her muscles burned and strained with exertion, but the pain only drove her harder. The scent of his blood triggered a bloodlust she didn't know she had.

Finally, she became too tired, too sore, to continue. She sat back. Her arms felt heavy from the effort, and moving them sent stabbing pain through her. She licked her lips and tasted blood. She spat on the ground. The heat, the rage inside her, continued to itch. She felt as if she was bursting out of her skin. She had to throw things, hurthim, she —

What the hell had that been? What was wrong with her? Was she so desperate to find Nalice she'd resort to brutality?

_I have to. I must. It is hard. I must be strong._

Her hands shook from the strain of lifting them. Her gloves were stained with red blood. Dragon blood. Not hers. She looked at Serinar. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his face was mutilated by scratches. Blood gave his hair a strange sheen in the dimness. His robes were ripped open at the front, exposing skin gouged by her claws. His chest heaved, he looked as if he was choking or about to throw up, and the noises he made rent at the air.

"You can't breathe fire," said Lira, as soon as she realised what the sounds were. "The collar won't let you."

He hissed and glared at her, falling quiet again. Blood dripped into his other eye, and it flickered shut.

"Are they worth it?" She looked down at her hands again. "Are they worth _this_?"

What had she done? He'd been tied up, defenceless, silenced.

_We have to._ Her hands curled into fists. _I had to. This is war. They'd have done the same. They'd have done worse. They _have_ done worse._

Her voice came out in a scream. "Aren't you going to tell me? Where is she? Who's helping you? Where is she?"

There was something inside her, making her bigger than her body could contain. Everything itched, her skin felt so intensely like it was about to split open she could almost feel it hurt.

She stormed from the tent.

The two whelplings continued to struggle at the base of the tree they'd been tied to. Torra had bound their jaws before she'd gone so they couldn't gnaw through their nets. Lira ignored the powerful ache of her arms to untie one of the nets from the tree. She ripped it open with shaking hands, wincing at the stab of pain it sent through her, and pulled out one of the whelplings. Her arms shook from the effort. She looked at the circular eye that watched her in terror; a girl.

She returned to the tent.

Serinar didn't even look up. The whelpling fluttered. Lira shook her weakly; the whelpling shrieked, and already Lira felt a sting of regret. _She's just a child._ She grabbed one of the wings, and the other flapped at her face. Her claws raked at Lira's arms, but did not puncture the leather.

"I don't know why you seem to care for the others," Lira said to him.

Slowly, he looked up. His eyes settled on the whelpling.

"But if you do," she said, "maybe it'll help you talk. We don't have time, Serinar. People are dying out there, mortals and dragons alike. Maybe…" She hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe you do care for them, and you're not keeping silent out of spite. You're old, Serinar, you remember what things were like before the War of the Ancients, and I think that, deep down, you're still like that. Don't you want things to be like that again?" A long time ago, back when talking of them had not given her a faraway look in her eyes, Alexstrasza had told her about the old days and the old ways of the Black Dragonflight. "My mother used to visit often. Neltharion was…" Her voice hitched. "One of her closest friends." She couldn't fall apart. Not in front of Serinar. "The Obsidian Dragonshrine used to be full of newly matured dragons looking for mates. Sometimes, if the females wanted to lay but didn't want to stay with a brood, they'd lay their eggs in the labyrinth and you'd be surrounded with whelplings. You had other dragons there and they'd hunt for food to bring back to the whelps. You'd have dragonspawn with you, hundreds of them, and they'd help nurture your young, but now…"

_You're all alone._

"You're the last Shrinekeeper." Lira's grip tightened on the whelpling as she continued to struggle. A queer sort of strength came to her arms. They no longer shook. Holding the whelpling was no longer a momentous effort. A strange feeling flowed through her muscles, like a pain potion taking rapid effect. "There's no dragonspawn there anymore. No more dragons to visit. Just Nalice. Maybe that's why you're attached to her, she was the only one left anymore. And…" She held up the whelpling. "Her children."

Serinar stared at her.

"I'll hurt her." Lira's voice wavered. "I'll hurt her, if you don't talk. You care about your children, don't you? Or you would have told me where Nalice is. Do you want me to hurt her?"

Serinar said nothing.

"I mean it!" The whelpling shrieked as Lira yanked her in front of her, holding her up by a wing. The whelpling flapped, but Lira kept a firm grip. She braced her thumbs on a wingbone. "I'll break her bones. I know what you Black dragons are like, they'll make her wish she'd died. And if you want this one to suffer, well — there's more on the way. We'll hurt them, too."

Serinar didn't flinch.

She swallowed. _He knows I won't do it._

"I'll kill her." Lira's weak voice betrayed her. The tears in her eyes betrayed her. By the Titans, what was wrong with her? Why did she feel an itch under her skin, why did she feel like she wanted to scream and cry? "No, I won't. I'll leave her crippled." The words came out, thick and fast and desperate. "I'm sure you'll think she deserves it. That's the kind of wretched logic your Flight uses. She's just a whelpling, but she got captured, she deserved everything she got!" She braced her thumbs behind the bone and —

And —

And —

She hadn't meant to do it. She hadn't _meant_ to do it. But somehow, she felt like she was going to burst in fury more than ever and she became aware of the piercing screams of the whelpling in her arms, and the grotesque way the child dangled from the broken wing she held in her hands, and a sliver of jagged, bloodstained bone_._ "This is war." Lira tightened her grip on the wing. "I'm a Red dragon. I'm a Red. We guard lives, we don't ruin them, we don't destroy them, but we have to take you out to protect everyone else. Even if it means…" Titans, the whelpling wouldn't stop _screaming_. "This is a girl I have in my arms. She wouldn't have made it to adulthood anyway. We killed some of Obsidia's young. We couldn't let this girl grow up to breed. Or get captured by Deathwing. You know he'd just make her Twilight? Or he'd make her grow up, make her breed. Probably with a brother. Lots of incest in your Flight, weakening you all." She grabbed the other wing.

The second time was easier than the first. The whelpling's scream made her want to cover her ears.

Lira moved onto a back leg, tears blurring her vision. "There were seven whelpings when you arrived." Whelpling bones were strong, but adult dragons were stronger. _She's going to die anyway. I'm just doing what I have to._ "One of them had its throat ripped out. The second got sliced to bits. Another had its stomach torn open and was left to die slowly in the mud. I'm sure that's much more painful than what I'm doing here. But, of course, you like it better that way. It purges the weak, you say." The whelpling keened as another leg crunched under Lira's grip. "Evolution at work." The forearms scrabbled at her desperately, weakly, but Lira gripped a wrist with little effort and twisted. The whelpling howled. "Strange, how you're all dying out, I suppose you're _all_ weak. The weakest Flight of all. The only Flight to fall to the Old Gods. Well, consider this more evolution at work." Serinar hissed. "Any Black dragon stupid enough to get caught by me gets removed from the breeding pool."

She felt empty. Hollow. She heard nothing but a roaring inside her. The keening sobs of the whelpling in her arms and Serinar's hissing sounded far away.

And then she heard something, and saw Serinar's lips move. "What?" she said.

"Put her out of her misery," said Serinar, quietly.

"Put her out of her misery?" Lira raised an eyebrow. The whelpling was limp in her arms, not bothering to struggle anymore, still crying. "Not, 'stop'? Not, 'heal her'?"

Serinar lowered his eyes at last.

"Oh, I remember now," said Lira. "You have a dragon in your midst who breaks his leg every so often. Sabellian. He broke it for the first time as a whelp, didn't he? And it healed wrong. So it breaks quite often, and it only grows weaker. Even us Reds have heard of that. And now the rest of the Flight hates him because he's 'weak', they think he deserves to be dead." Lira snorted. "Typical. You're perfectly fine with your young murdering each other, but Titans forbid you have a disabled child."

Serinar's tone was quiet. "Stop her hurting."

"Then tell me what the hell is defending the Obsidian Dawn. Tell me what the hell awaits us if we go into those tunnels for them. Is the Lich King helping them or not?"

Serinar said nothing.

All the anger drained from her, then, all the bitterness and the strange itch and the heat that had flooded her. Green light washed over Lira's hands. "Let the rest of your Flight punish your daughter for your silence." She didn't bother to set the bones of the whelpling in front of her; the whelpling was as good as dead now anyway. She dropped her.

The whelp struggled to stand. Her crooked limbs made walking difficult. Some of her bones were still exposed even as the jagged ends healed over. She would never fly. She crawled into Serinar's lap and curled up there, whimpering.

Serinar tried to pull a hand from his bindings. They did not give.

He quietly gave up.

Lira walked from the tent.

The world was silent. There were calls of birds carefully keeping their distance, and the whistling of the wind, and yet the chill inside her muffled all sound. The arctic breeze touched her skin with ice. Her neck tickled. She raised her hand and touched something that felt warm and wet through her gloves, and only then did she remember Serinar's blood drying on her skin. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and smeared red on it.

She looked to the healthy whelpling that was left. It sat quietly, the net draped over its snout and wings, and watched her. She felt nothing.

_She was just a child._

She looked at her bloodstained hands.

_I did what I had to do._

Wasn't that the Bronzes' justification for everything? _For the highest good._ If she hadn't meant to do it, they would have stopped her. It wasn't as if she'd enjoyed it. Wasn't as if she'd wanted to do it. She'd done it because she had to. And Serinar would take forever to talk; she would have to again.

She'd need to be strong enough to. Nobody else would. Nobody else was strong enough to do what had to be done to end this war.

That was okay.

She'd do it so they wouldn't have to.

She looked up and saw Kaz on the opposite side of camp, eyes wide, taking in her bloody appearance. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

She lowered her hands. Looked to the north east.

Out there, past Sholazar, was Icecrown Citadel.

Bolvar would be there. She had to confront him — no. No, she couldn't. If he was working with the Black Dragonflight, he'd only tip them off.

_But is that a bad thing?_ She thought. _There are only so many places they can hide. It could flush them out, they're desperate enough already it might make them panic and scatter… turn on each other…_

She needed her mother, too. Needed to talk to her. Needed to ease this ache inside of her. _Forgive me, mother. I did it so you would not have to._

But first, the Lich King.

"Kazastrasz," she told him. "Get the other drakes and have Serinar guarded. I need to leave _now_, so hurry up."

Kaz quietly nodded. He lowered his eyes.

Before he left, he bent down beside the last netted whelpling and set it free.

Lira watched.

She did not comment.

-o-O-o-

Onyxia had never known a jungle to be so cold, but despite the suffocating humidity of Sholazar, the fruit on the trees and the calling of exotic birds, the air was colder than the rest of Northrend. The Twilight Hammer's camp milled around her, slowing as the last red faded from the sky and the stars emerged. Sabel inspected a crystal totem that a tired looking cultist presented him. Nalice sat on a moss-covered root with a blue crystal in her hand and a chisel in the other, and Jet hovered guiltily by Onyxia's elbow.

_You're helping them_. Bolvar's voice had been scolding her all afternoon. _For now, you say. And how do I know this is the truth? I know better than to assume every thought in your head is true._

_We need to know what they are up to_, she said.

_And?_ said Bolvar.

_They're tampering with the pylons for a reason they won't tell us._ Onyxia looked to Seldarria, who had engaged Nalice in conversation. Nalice looked up from the crystal in her hands. Onyxia thought she saw the head of a whelp, and the beginning of a wing. _We need the energy from these pylons to charge the Eye of the Watchers. You know what that is?_

She felt Bolvar rummage in her memories. She suppressed a feeling of irritation; she'd done the same to him, once. _Yes_, he said. _And then you can purify the corrupt._ A pause. _This would draw all the power from the pylons?_

_We need all the energy we can get_, she said.

_These are the pylons that keep Sholazar intact, you understand?_ he said.

_Of course_, she said.

Another pause. How strange, how much character his silence had. She felt him glare at her.

_Drawing this energy would destroy the balance of nature within Sholazar Basin_, said Bolvar, _therefore leaving everything in it to die, possibly affecting the rest of Northrend?_

Pause.

_Why do you keep insisting you're the good side?_ said Bolvar. _Here you are, helping the enemy and damning the innocent. As you always do. How can you justify this?_

_You know what will also make them suffer?_ said Onyxia. _When Deathwing dies and nobody gets the Heart of Earth and the entire world turns into nothing but tentacles. If I knew of another solution, I would try it. This one is risky enough as it is._

A low hiss from Bolvar. _This is too much, Onyxia._

_Do you have a better idea?_ She tried to keep the desperation from her voice. _We _need_ this, Fordragon. My people need this. _You_ need this. Where else will we get the power we need to purify the world?_

_The Ambassador once told me of something called the Dragon Soul_, Fordragon said. _But what is worse? Letting you destroy a continent, or letting you destroy everything?_

_The Dragon Soul is long gone._ But Bolvar's words niggled at her as she looked up at Skyreach Pillar. Their blue crystals caught the moonlight, drowned out by green vines and plants. _I wonder, could we use the magic of these pillars as a weapon? We would have a more even footing if we — _

_No_, said Bolvar, flatly. _No._

Onyxia's answer was interrupted by a snarl from Jettion. As a whelpling flew by, Jet lunged. Onyxia grabbed him just in time, and he strained against her arms as one of Nalice's brood sniffed at Seldarria.

"It is a good thing we already knew of your presence, or the children running amok would have revealed it to us." Seldarria patted the whelpling on the head. It hissed, and dashed away. "I am also surprised, Onyxia, that the Lich King did not slaughter you."

"So am I." Onyxia watched the whelpling claw its way up a tree. She tightened her hold on Jet, who snarled. _Why did Saya have a fit just as I was speaking to him? That was what convinced him. The Old Gods helped. Why?_

But that had been the point, hadn't it? Send Saya away, and there would be nothing that stood in between Bolvar Fordragon and him betraying them all. The Old Gods _knew_ what leverage Onyxia had over him if the girl stayed.

And now, Saya was gone. Eduard had teleported her away that morning.

This alliance was so fragile as it was. Fordragon had little reason to help.

"We've been helping you with your dragonsworn, but that can't be all you want." Onyxia heard Nalice's voice, and turned to see her addressing Seldarria. "You want Sabellian to help you with the Heir of Earth, when he comes, but what else do you want?"

"Nothing," said Seldarria. "Save your loyalty, if we can earn it."

"You are quite friendly to us in spite of knowing that we do not intend to give it." Nalice crossed her arms and leaned back on one foot.

Seldarria turned up her palms. "You have given us no reason to fear you, Nalice. All you do is hide."

"And yet, you know of our intentions." Up went Nalice's eyebrows, in that familiar, condescending expression of hers. "Your Old Gods can read our minds, after all."

"Yes. And? Your intentions are misguided, but not malicious."

"What part of us wanting to destroy the Old Gods is _not_ malicious?" Nalice's voice held a patronising drawl to it.

"The wanting." Seldarria smiled. Even Onyxia winced at the insult in the gesture, and Nalice narrowed her eyes. "The wanting and the doing are two separate things. Wanting the Old Gods dead does not mean you are capable of it. And you are not, Nalice. They are a part of this world, even more so than you and I. If we die, the world goes on. If the Old Gods die… not so much."

Onyxia suppressed a shudder. Her gaze drifted to Sabel, who lectured a rather bewildered-looking cultist. Only then did Onyxia catch the words, 'arakkoa-designed cutlery', 'shark bait' and 'ogre gall bladders.' The cultist looked more and more confused with each passing sentence. When Sabel said, "Any questions?" the cultist looked helpless.

Seldarria approached Onyxia, head tilted. "Interesting."

"He's Sabellian," said Onyxia. "He's always like that."

"No, no…" Seldarria leaned on her staff like an old woman. "I mean Serinar. Curious developments have taken place, and the Old Gods have permitted me a vision. Did you know, he's been captured by the Reds?"

Onyxia's breath would have frozen in her chest if she had any. "What?"

"Indeed." Seldarria twisted her staff in the mud, and then stood upright. "Lirastrasza has him. She wants to question him, but lacks the patience. She's quite unbalanced, and she seems to be breaking."

"Stop beating around the bush and tell me what happened."

Seldarria stared at Onyxia for a long, cold moment. "Did you know how Obsidia died?"

"What has she got to do with this?" Onyxia sat down on a stump. Jettion squirmed in her arms. "Where is he? How many are guarding him? Surely your Old Gods can tell us that?"

"She had sentry whelps laid in the obsidian forest outside of her domain." Seldarria sat down on the stump beside her. Her close proximity made Onyxia's skin crawl, but she did not move away. "Under Lirastrasza's orders, the mortals made them hatch, and they were careful about it. Not sensing enough fear to attack, the whelplings flew straight into her den. The mortals followed. The rest is history."

Onyxia looked at the whelpling that had crawled up a tree. It sat there in the branches, silent, watching Jettion. She closed her eyes tightly. _Whenever we think things can't get any worse…_ "We're deep inside Naz'anak." _And the Reds don't know we have an anchor stone there to allow teleportation._ "It's a long journey, it's safe…"

"Not with the whelplings loose, it isn't," said Seldarria. "It may not matter. The Lich King may end up betraying you. He is seriously considering it."

"That does not surprise me." Onyxia's words were quiet.

Seldarria inclined her head. "Lirastrasza has approached him. Foolish girl, there is only one of her and many frostwyrms still left in Icecrown. She threatened him, which is even more foolish. What is amusing is that he made the presumption the Reds know she's there, which they do not. Shame. He should have killed her, but being more intelligent than she is seems to have let him down."

Onyxia forced herself not to give another shudder. Was this even Seldarria speaking to her, right now? Or was she nothing more but a shell, the avatar and voice of the Old Gods?

"He didn't tell me she approached him," said Onyxia. "Why would he?"

"It was recent," said Seldarria. "It's happening now, as a matter of fact." She paused. "No. She is leaving now. She has made her case."

She felt no surprise. Only tired disappointment. "What did she say?"

"She knows he is in league with you, however weak the truce may be." Seldarria rose. "Your girl is gone, and he is not afraid for her anymore. But Lirastrasza has told him she will go to war against him if he does not turn up Nalice in the week. He protested, but she does not believe him. She _knows_ he is with you."

"What will he do?"

"I don't know," said Seldarria. "He is the Lich King. Even I struggle to see into his head."

"You expected him to turn on us." Onyxia let Jettion go. Jettion flapped towards Sabel and past Nalice. Only then did Onyxia see her gazing at them in horror. "The Old Gods weren't sure, though, otherwise they wouldn't have made Saya become violent. And Serinar — "

"Serinar would not allow himself to be captured." Nalice's loud voice cut across Onyxia's words. "He's thirty four thousand years old, he could not — "

"He has been." Seldarria gazed at Nalice levelly. "I may not know _everything_, but I see plenty, and the Old Gods have shown me an image of him bound and bleeding with the Red dragon Lirastrasza in front of him. She captured him to get at _you_, Nalice."

"He is not weak," Nalice spat. "He is not! He would never allow for this to happen."

Onyxia opened her mouth, then closed it. Seldarria said nothing, watching Nalice. In front of them, Nalice's shoulders slowly sagged. She shook her head as if her ears were full of water. "He wouldn't," she said. "He _couldn't_."

"Lirastrasza was right in one thing she said to Serinar." Seldarria's voice was soft. "The Black Dragonflight is weak." She held out her hands. Her pale skin shimmered, and purple scales grew on her arms. "This is why you will, one day, be ascended. Just as humans have been ascended into dragonspawn, you will be ascended into the Twilight Dragonflight."

_Not if I can help it, _thought Onyxia.

"If Fordragon betrays us, that is bad news." Sabel approached Nalice, glancing at her from the side of his eyes as she stared at the ground. His eyes met Onyxia's. "He is watching you, that makes it even worse. The walls are closing in."

Nalice's voice was quiet and emotionless. "They've been closing in since before Onyxia died."

"Trusting Fordragon was too great a risk from the start." The glare Sabel gave Onyxia was accusing. "You should have listened to me. You should never have sought him out."

The sting from his words was difficult to ignore.

"Naz'anak is no longer safe." Something had changed in Nalice's eyes as she looked up at Onyxia. Gone was her characteristic mockery and scorn. The pressed line of her mouth was determined, and her shoulders were stiff. "We must consider it lost. There is no safe haven anymore."

"Fear not." Seldarria stood up. She touched Nalice's shoulder lightly. "You are among friends."

Onyxia could not sense Fordragon, but she spoke to him anyway. _You betray us to Lirastrasza, and we will only be forced to work with the Twilights even more._

She sensed him cast an eye on her; sensed a low, dangerous rumble.

_I want to survive this war with our morals intact_, she said bitterly. _But in the choice between doing the right thing and doing what will help us survive… if you betray us, we'll have no choice anymore but to join them completely. I will not let the Obsidian Dawn die for my principles._

_I am no fool, Onyxia_, said Fordragon. _The Old Gods touch me too, and I cannot win against them alone. I would rather have questionable allies than none at all in this war, and the Reds are tainted now._

When Onyxia opened her mouth to relay his words, she had barely finished speaking before Nalice's nostrils flared and she tossed her hair with a shake of her head. "_No_, Onyxia, have you learned _nothing_? We cannot trust him, we cannot trust him, _we cannot trust him_. I am _done_ paying for your mistakes!"

"You want to split." Seldarria's lip quirked in a smirk when Nalice whirled to look at her. "Dear Nalice. The Old Gods are _always_ listening."

"What?" said Onyxia. "Split? No!"

"To what end?" Sabel rose to approach his daughter. "The Old Gods always know where we are, we are safer together."

"We're not safe as long as _she's_ here." Nalice jerked her head towards Onyxia. "Fordragon knows where Onyxia is no matter where she goes. My breeding time will not come again for twenty years, and there will be no more whelplings until then."

"Your grandfather can help with that," Seldarria said dryly.

"I will _not_ be his breeding bitch," said Nalice.

"Why hide from Fordragon when we cannot hide from the Old Gods?" Sabel growled as he took a step closer to his daughter.

"Because at least then the Reds won't yet know where we are." There was no mockery in Nalice's tone. Nothing but sincere anger and determination. "Not for a time. Not until they are further corrupted." She turned on a heel and strode towards a nearby clearing.

"You will not survive alone." Sabel followed her, limping.

"How long did you think you could outrun the world?" Nalice stepped into a large patch of moonlight. The light cast sharp, dark shadows on her face, shading her eyes and lower face. "You've outrun the Black Dragonflight for most of your life, but can you outrun the mortal races? Can you outrun the Lich King? Can you outrun the Reds? We are alone. If Serinar is lost, so are the rest of us. We've only postponed the inevitable."

"But — " Onyxia said.

"The Old Gods haven't corrupted the Reds yet completely." Nalice turned her fiery gaze on Onyxia. "So they won't outright tell the Reds where any of us are for some time. They draw this war out, Onyxia. Why? So that more will die. So that less will stand between them and escape. When they escape, Azeroth will die without them. You know this. The world is ending_._ Serinar is captured, the Reds have almost caught up, and Fordragon can see you wherever you go. No. The time of hiding has ended, and the time for running has begun. We cannot hide, but perhaps we can run long enough to live to see the end of the world."

"Run like a coward if you wish." Seldarria looked unfazed. "Serinar will be recovered, however. A flock of Reds are of no issue against the Destroyer."

Sabel's eyes widened. "You mean to drag Deathwing into this?"

"He is already coming," said Seldarria. "He has been on his way since we enticed you into speaking with us. He will be here soon."

Cold realisation sank into Onyxia's core. "You meant to turn Nalice over all along!"

Why hadn't she used her head? Why didn't she think? Why didn't _Sabel_ think?

Nalice's eyes widened. Sabel looked to Onyxia in horror, his eyes full of hopelessness.

"You are Deathwing's children. You cannot escape that. Nor will you escape Deathwing." Seldarria smiled. "I need to check on the other camps. Do not make the mistake of believing you have privacy. You fight against gods. Remember that."

She left them in silence. Nalice stared at the ground. Leaves rustled above them all in a gentle breeze. Sabel squeezed Onyxia's shoulder.

"Nalice is right." Onyxia shrugged off her brother's touch and leaned against a tree. "She has to go. Remember what he did to Alexstrasza. Remember what he did to our mothers." She looked at Sabel. "He raped them, and yours died. With my mother gone, with no other female Black dragon left, he'll force her to lay. She's not tiny like Nyxondra, he might try to sire the clutches himself, Nalice might survive…" Might. Even Nalice was still small, for a dragon.

"How can she outfly Deathwing?" Sabel kicked at the ground with his good leg.

"The end is coming." All anger and snark had melted away from Nalice, leaving Onyxia feeling as if she was gazing at a stranger instead of her niece. Nalice's hands were upturned in front of her, and the woman stared at her palms, lost. "Serinar is gone. Deathwing will not save him, he will kill him for being captured. You cannot use the pylons, because the Old Gods can hear. They can hear everything you do, and even if Fordragon hid you, Onyxia, you cannot hide from _him_. It is over. I can outfly the world, but… Deathwing? I cannot…"

"You cannot give up yet," said Onyxia. "This isn't over until the last one of us dies."

"There is still one last hope." Sabellian clenched his fists. "Find the Black Prince. Samia should have him with her by now. She might even have your son with her, too."

"I never had much hope to begin with." Nalice watched him for a moment. "I never wanted to die in a hole, kept alive only because of my use to reproduce."

Sabel lowered his eyes.

Nalice looked up at the sky. The last glow of twilight had faded. Through the canopy of leaves, stars winked against a background of black.

Night had fallen.

"That wasn't why Serinar protected you," said Sabel. "He was old. Older than the rest of us. Perhaps even the oldest dragon left in the Flight other than Deathwing. He lived most of his life following the old ways, before the Old Gods. He may be corrupt as the rest of us, but unlike us... I don't think he forgot the old ways. Not truly. He had high status in the Flight, status that could have easily been revoked, and yet he risked it when he took you as a mate. The daughter of a cripple. He angered many when he did."

Ah, there was Nalice's characteristic snort. "He took me on as a mate because he wanted to spite my mother. He loved her first, and when she did not take him, he chose me instead."

"Be that as it may, do you truly believe that never changed?"

Nalice was silent for a moment. "I don't see the point in this."

"You should go," said Onyxia. "If Deathwing is coming..."

For a long moment Nalice gazed at them, as if committing their faces to memory. "I shall fly. I am faster than I used to be. Perhaps it will be enough."

"Good luck," said Onyxia. _I pray I will see you again._

Sabel said nothing.

Nalice's wings dwarfed them both as they shot up from her back. Her trail curled in the mud. And then with a few beats of her massive wings, she had raised herself above the trees and was gone.

She was small, for a Black dragon. Like Sabel. Like Onyxia.

"Nalice is my daughter." Sabel crossed his arms. "She will survive."

_She's Maleficent's daughter too, and for all the power Maleficent had that Nalice did not inherit, she died anyway_, Onyxia did not say. _Strange, how the strongest are all gone, and it is only weakness that remains._

_Strength is never as obvious as it seems_. Onyxia started at Fordragon's voice in her head. _Let her fly. I will not have my frostwyrms follow. She is too suspicious of us. I said I would help. Let the Reds come. They will not find me on the Frozen Throne. _

"Onyxia." Sabel lowered his arms to his side and looked at her. "It's not safe for you to stay here."

Bolvar said something, but whatever it was went unheard over the crash her thoughts made as they ground to an abrupt halt. "What?"

"I can't hide," said Sabel. "Neither can Nalice. But _you_ can. I don't know if Fordragon is truly trustworthy, but things are beyond desperate now. She's right. The end is coming, and you are the only one who can stop it."

"What? No, I am not leaving!" As Onyxia spoke, Jettion paused to hover above them, watching.

"Deathwing is coming," said Sabel. "He has no use for you, Onyxia. Seldarria is young, and inbred. She couldn't have fought us, Twilight or no, but when Deathwing is here that will change. If Fordragon is on our side, then you're a risk to all of them. You can't be left alive. You have to go. Fordragon can hide you."

"As if he would." Onyxia laughed bitterly. "He's still not sure about us. I can't even fly, Sabel."

"Then Fordragon will have to fix that," said Sabel. "He's the gods damned Lich King now, surely he can fix your wings."

"I wouldn't count on it."

"The others need you. Nalice needs you. We _have_ to survive."

"And what about you?" said Onyxia. "You're just going to stay?"

"If Samia failed, and the Black Prince comes here, I need to be here." Sabel nodded. "I will be useful to them for a few years more, and so I will survive."

"What about the pylons?"

Sabel opened his mouth, but Onyxia didn't hear. Bolvar had spoken. _I know what they want to do._

Onyxia held up a hand to silence Sabel. _What?_

_How was the Dragon Soul made?_

"The Dragon Soul was made by… I believe the goblins crafted something, and the Aspects poured their magic into it." Although Onyxia spoke aloud, Sabel did not look confused. "Why… do you ask?"

_And the pylons have the power of each Dragonflight?_ said Bolvar.

Even in her enchanted robes, Onyxia felt cold.

"Oh," she said.

* * *

**_A/N: _**_As you can tell it's still been a bit of time since the last update. I am in my (delayed) last year of high school. I have major exams which determine whether I get into uni at the end of this year, as well as assessments contributing to that mark throughout the year, and it won't be my results that count, but how well I rank compared to everyone else. Yay HSC._

_Updates are going to be slow, but hopefully they won't take as long as this one did._


	60. The Fall

_**A/N: **__Pen name change - I am now "Iceworth" on this site. Hope this hasn't confused anyone._

_With thanks to __**Wanda von Dunayev**__ for being my beta. Her writing is amazing, and I feel I've gotten so much better since she's been working with me._

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

"You can't stay." Sabel led Onyxia through the undergrowth by her arm. Their footsteps squelched in Sholazar mud and rotting plant matter. "You need to fly _now_, Onyx. This is only changing from bad to worse."

"The children need protecting." Onyxia tried to pull her arm back, but Sabel's grip tightened. "There are whelplings everywhere - "

"And how do you propose we protect an entire flock of corrupt whelplings?" Sabel had dragged Onyxia far from camp, but he still looked over his shoulder with every limping step he took. For all the good it would do; the Old Gods were always watching. "We can't survive if we try to save everyone. Get Fordragon to mend your wings and — "

"And if he won't?"

"Then make him!" Sabel awkwardly climbed over a massive tree root. Onyxia hissed as her foot caught underneath it. "If Seldarria called Deathwing over when we first met her, he could be here in hours. Maybe even less. You need to hide."

"We can't leave Serinar behind." Onyxia yanked at his hand to stop him. "Fordragon can prove himself by helping us. We are not the Flight we used to be, and I refuse to — "

"This is common sense, Onyxia!" Sabel rounded on her. "I did not survive for so long by making such basic mistakes. Serinar is dead. Deathwing won't let him live. Serinar would want us to protect Nalice."

_Nalice is with Serinar,_ said Bolvar.

"Quiet." Onyxia glared at Sabel. "Fordragon."

_Indigosa found a Red camp on the border of the Borean Tundra_. _She saw Nalice duck out of sight among some rocks._

Onyxia relayed his words to Sabel as fast as she could. "What is she doing? Why would she save him? She's always going on about weakness and — "

"You believe the front she puts on?" Sabel snorted. "It's as fake as Alexstrasza's dignity. She's been Serinar's mate since she was two thousand years old and she's lived with him for centuries." He shook his head. "Nalice is more attached to Serinar than she lets on, or she would never have let him fuss over her like he has since the Cataclysm." Sabel crossed his arms. "And now Deathwing knows where to get both of them."

"We need to save them!"

"Damn it, Onyx!"

_If you want your people to survive, Nalice must escape,_ said Bolvar. _He is right. You must live. But I can help._

_Can I truly believe you would help me? _said Onyxia.

Sabel babbled on about something, but Onyxia didn't hear him. _Do you have a choice?_ said Bolvar. _Indigosa is near Nalice. You need to convince Nalice to leave before Deathwing comes. He's above the Tundra._

"What?" said Onyxia, out loud. "So close?"

_Yes,_ said Fordragon. _Tell Sabellian to hide your body._

_What?_ said Onyxia.

The sudden jerking sensation in her chest left her gasping. Sabel's mouth clamped shut and he stared at her, eyes wide.

"I — " said Onyxia, but the sensation gripped her again, as if her heart was being ripped from her chest. One of her legs lost all sensation and buckled beneath her.

This was what dying had felt like, all those years ago; her vision blurred and the sounds of the rainforest around her became muffled. She struggled and kicked out with her good leg, flexed her fingers to remember their feeling, opened her mouth to speak. Her other leg stopped responding. Her vision faded away into colourless nothing. She heard the far-off sound of a groan from her mouth.

_Stop struggling_, said Bolvar.

_You're killing me_, said Onyxia, as she felt herself float away.

_No_, said Bolvar. _Be still. _

Sensation returned, and with it came the cold. The presence of a third person in the link pressed against her.

_And now_, said Bolvar, _open your eyes._

-o-O-o-

Lira alighted on a silent platform at Wrymrest deserted of everything but snowflakes, and returned to elven form. An icy wind swallowed her and she hunched her shoulders inwards, pulling her gloves on tighter as if it would make a difference against the biting air. She strode through an awaiting archway and into the echoing corridors. Through the hallways, into a massive chamber, more hallways, a spiral staircase -

The dormitories lay to her left. She stopped in her tracks beside the doorway. Hesitated. He would be gone by now, no doubt, but she had to check.

She was not disappointed.

It was a simple, single room, with a massive glass window that overlooked the western hills and the eternal field of white that surrounded the temple. The shelves that had been empty when the Ambassador moved in had steadily filled with books over his tenure, but they remained untouched in their places. Lira fingered their spines. Some of them were ancient.

The dust hadn't even had time to settle.

The Ambassador had rarely left his chambers. Even in life, the Ambassador had preferred to remain close to home, and in death he had claimed never to have left Naxxramas until Bolvar put him back together and forced him out of the ruins.

Perhaps it was a Blue thing. Perhaps it was only him. Lira did not know enough Blues to say.

She had only just registered the footsteps behind her when she heard Kazastrasz speak. "I didn't believe the patrols when they said they saw you skulking around."

Lira looked up to see his reflection in the window in front of her. He stood behind her, in the doorway, in the form of a teenaged human.

Red hair fell over his eyes as he scowled. "Why did you come?"

"I wanted to speak to Mother." Her fingertips whispered against the curve of a tome before she pulled her hand away and let it hang by her side.

Kazastrasz touched the doorway, as if he wanted to hide behind it. "I told her what you did."

"I thought you would." Lira turned to face him. "There is more at stake than a few whelps, Kaz."

"That was inexcusable." Kazastrasz turned to leave, then paused. His eyes combed the room. "The Ambassador hasn't returned yet?"

_I doubt he ever will. Fordragon's made his choice. _"How long has he been gone?"

"I noticed he was gone when I got here." Kaz curled his fingers into a loose fist. "The others were talking about it. They don't know where he is."

"I should have not been so hasty to confront the Lich King." Lira looked at her glove as she tugged at it sharply, fidgeting under Kaz's fearful stare. "No doubt he told the Ambassador to leave as soon as I was gone."

"Confront the Lich King?" said Kaz. "Over what? And why did you do this without telling anyone?"

"He's hiding Nalice." Lira lifted her chin and met his eyes. He flinched. "He's the traitor I knew he was. Katrana Prestor had him wrapped around her little finger years ago, but time has done nothing to change that." She snorted, turning again to examine the room. "The Ambassador has never been trustworthy. Why Bolvar brought him back, I do not know." Lira tugged on her gloves again. "He was too friendly with Kel'Thuzad to trust." She scowled at Kaz. "Move."

Kaz ducked out of the doorway as if it was on fire. When she left, he followed at a distance.

Her mother was in her chambers, staring out of the main window. Her chamber was high enough to see the red leaves of the great tree in the Ruby Dragonshrine cresting the hills on a clear day. And a clear day meant that the sight was marred by the volcano of the Obsidian Dragonshrine fighting the peaks of Wintergrasp for dominance against the blue sky.

Alexstrasza turned from the window as Lira stepped through the arches onto plush carpet. The Eye of the Watchers hung from her mother's belt. The sight made her blink. She'd been content to leave it locked away in a drawer before; why did she keep it with her now?

"Mother." Lira bowed. She heard a rustle of fabric as Kaz did the same behind her. When she rose, she saw her mother did not quite meet her eyes. She seemed to stare through her. Lira's voice faltered in her throat. "Has... has Chromie returned yet?"

"Chromie?" Alexstrasza frowned. Her fingers brushed against the Eye.

"Yes," said Lira. "Don't you remember? What the Bronzewhelp Nevedormu told us, before the Bronzes returned?"

"Remember?" Her mother shook her head and touched a temple. "Remember what?"

"He said that if we tampered with either of the eggs again, the Black Prince or the decoy, the universe would fracture and be destroyed."

"Yes." Alexstrasza lowered her hand. A frown creased her forehead. "Yes, and...?"

"And he said Chromie would return to tell us why." Lira leaned back on one leg, crossing her arms. Even in here, the chill the walls always held tried to reach her through her thick clothing. "Eventually. So she hasn't come back?"

"No." Her mother shook her head. "I remember now."

"There's a story to this." Lira tapped her foot. "There's more to the Black Prince than we know, I'd stake my life on it."

If the little Bronzewhelp Nevedormu had not mentioned the danger of the universe fracturing, Lira would never had guessed. Whatever it was, it was well hidden, so subtle that they had not suspected a thing.

But that did not mean it wasn't big.

_I wonder_, thought Lira, _does the decoy play a part in this?_ Nevedormu had off-handedly mentioned the decoy when he'd relayed his information to Lira and Alexstrasza; was the decoy more than bait? _It is the grandchild of Sabellian and Maleficent, and the child of an ancient Shrinekeeper. I felt its power when I held it, unhatched, in my arms. It has the blood of the most prominent members of the Black Dragonflight running through its veins, and it has power to rival the Heir of Earth itself..._

… Maybe using the child as bait hadn't been a good idea after all.

"A Bronze does not lightly show her hand." Alexstrasza's voice cut Lira out of her reverie. "When she comes again, her words will change the world."

_And then we'll find out what's so important about that egg that the whole world is doomed if we recover it,_ thought Lirastrasza.

"My daughter." Finally, Alexstrasza's back and shoulders straightened, and she looked Lira in the eye. "Grave accusations have been brought to my attention."

"I know, mother," said Lira. "I came to confess. Kazastrasz told you the truth. I hurt a whelpling to extract information from its father Serinar."

Her mother's shoulders slumped. _She looks so frail_, thought Lira, as her mother shook her head and turned away. _This war has taken everything of her. But she is strong. She will go on._ "I thought it would not be possible you were capable of such a thing, my Lira."

"I did what had to be done. I do not deny it. I believe what I did was necessary."

Alexstrasza leaned on the windowsill.

No rebuke? No sharp words? "Mother?"

"Ever since Obsidia died..." Alexstrasza did not turn around. "I..." She pressed her lips tightly together. Lowered her head. "I sent you, of my own free will, to destroy one of the last females of the Black Dragonflight. And I sent you again, of my own free will, to destroy the one we know for certain is the last of her kind. I have sent mercenaries to fight the Black Dragonflight knowing perfectly well they will slaughter children." She shook her head. "In the end, what is one more?"

Lira blinked. "Mother?"

Her mother's fingers curled on top of the windowsill. She gazed into the distance. Winds whited out the northern hills until they were wiped from view.

"Mother?" Lira took a step closer.

"Sometimes," Alexstrasza murmured, "I wonder..."

"Yes?"

"I hold the Heart of Life, just as Deathwing holds the Heart of Earth." Alexstrasza's words were so quiet Lira could barely hear them. "I was created to guard life, not to..." The whistle of the winds against the tower drowned out her last words, if Alexstrasza still spoke at all.

"Mother," said Lira. "Sometimes the only way to allow the body to live is to cut off an infected limb. That is what we are _doing_. The Black Dragonflight is beyond redemption and there is nothing anyone can change about that."

Something wet glinted on her mother's cheek. Startled, Lira stepped forward. Alexstrasza turned her head away. Her grip tightened on the windowsill.

"You are the Aspect of Life, you are the Dragonqueen." Lira leaned against the windowsill to look at her mother's face, but Alexstrasza's red hair fell to obscure her profile. "You have had to bear the weight of hard decisions on your shoulders. You will go on."

Alexstrasza's fingers curled loosely. "We will _all_ go on. When the Obsidian Dawn is dead..." The fingers loosened. Clenched. "I dream of them often. Perhaps they are visions. If so, all chance for the Black Dragonflight to be redeemed as Rheastrasza dreamed is lost. The Black Prince will die."

_We should be so lucky._ "What did you dream?"

"The same one, over and over." Alexstrasza unhooked the Eye of the Watchers from her belt. She held it up. In the dim Northrend light, it looked dead. It _was_ dead, Lira vaguely recalled. It had expended all its energy purifying the Black Prince. "I dreamed about Sabellian, and the Heir of Earth, and the decoy. I dreamed that Sabellian held the Heir by the throat as the decoy hovered at his shoulder. It beheld its rival with an evil gaze, and Sabellian snapped the Heir's neck. And then..." Alexstrasza's hand curled tightly around the Eye. "Sabellian took the Eye from me and smashed it on the ground."

"Sometimes," Lira murmured, "I wonder why a coward like Sabellian would aid the Obsidian Dawn. He's spent his entire life running and hiding. Why would he help his own Flight when they have only ever tried to kill him?"

_But then_, said a sinister thought in her mind, _the only thing more dangerous than an obvious enemy is one that is hidden. How strange, that Deathwing had him sent to Outland. How strange, that such a weak pariah was put into Deathwing's army._

"It was a vision," said Lira. "You must guard the Eye with your life."

"I intend to," said Alexstrasza. "I will not let them take it." Only then did the old spark in her eyes return; the bitter determination that war seemed to have worn away.

"I'm going to kill the Obsidian Dawn as soon as I can," said Lira. "The Lich King made his stance clear when the Ambassador escaped; he means to turn on us."

"He has betrayed us?"

"He knows where Nalice is," said Lira. "I told him to hand her over, or he dies."

Alexstrasza turned on her with a flash of her eyes. "That was rash, daughter."

"He is not much of a threat anymore, most of the Scourge is gone."

"Most," said Alexstrasza. "But now they will regroup. Fordragon will not go down without a fight. But why would he betray us? He killed Onyxia, he withstood the Lich King..."

"He's a living being surrounded by saronite," said Lira. "He was a disaster waiting to happen from the start."

"Lira." Alexstrasza straightened. "I want Kazastrasz to keep a close eye on you. I will not have any more whelplings harmed."

"Mother, they — "

"No," said Alexstrasza. "My word is final. Kaz told me that you captured Serinar; see that he talks, but do _not_ harm an innocent in the process. And if Kaz should disagree with any of your orders, he has my authority to override them. I will have the drakes alerted."

"As you wish." Lira set her jaw as she felt the sting of humiliation. Fancy having a _drake_ holding the power to override her! "Mother."

"Good," said Alexstrasza. "Do not repeat this incident, and I will look the other way. For now. Now, go, my daughter. It is only a matter of time before they fall, we must make it soon."

-o-O-o-

Swimming was tough, tiring work.

Swimming from dawn until dusk and even beyond left Samia exhausted. Hunger left her exhausted. As the sea grew shallower she found more and more fish to catch. At night she tangled herself in kelp on the seafloor with the egg pressed to the sand beneath her and slept fitfully. At dawn, she curled her stiff arms around it again and allowed the tides to carry her.

When eternity ended, she found land.

By then she was so weak she could barely hold the egg. The current pushed her into shallow water, and she barely managed to direct herself onto shore. She flopped onto the beach. Grit clung to her scales and slimy skin as she lay on her stomach. The egg rolled from her grasp and came to a gentle stop beside her.

Perhaps it was the hunger talking, but Samia could swear it was watching her.

A shiver ran through her.

"You're going to hatch in my presence, sooner or later," Samia murmured in a naga's voice. "Fear makes an egg hatch. Blackwhelps are born when they detect terror or bloodlust. And I'm always scared."

The dim light cast sharp shadows behind the egg's jagged spines. On the sand, it waited.

Who slumbered inside its shell? Was it the Heir of Earth, their saviour? Or was it Nalice's powerful child? When it hatched, what would it be like? What would its name be? Who would the child grow up to become?

Would it live to see the end of this war?

The waves rolled up on the shore, gentle and soothing. She was so tired…

She managed to shove the egg further up the beach and scavenged in the shallows for dead fish, and crabs in the sand. She broke the crabs out of their shells and ate their soft insides. It tasted delicious to her naga tongue.

She left the egg in a secure place in the sand dunes and slithered along the beach. Sand grains clung to her moist, cyan scales. Shells dotted the beach. Seaweed glinted in the light. She rounded a peninsula of sorts as the stars watched over her. Where _was_ she? Sooner or later she'd be able to identify her location. Quel'Thalas? Tirisfal? Somewhere else?

Ten minutes into her journey, she found a dragon's egg in the sand. It was black and red. The pattern of the spikes was familiar. _Well_, she told herself with a groggy mind, and moved on. _What a strange coincidence!_

Ten minutes later she found another one.

Ten minutes after _that_, her fatigue-addled brain couldn't delude itself anymore. She looked up through the trees and saw there weren't even enough to hide the sky beyond.

"Dammit," she muttered, and slumped in the sand around the egg. "I'm on a bloody _island._"

-o-O-o-

The vaguest sensation of a third person in the link grew clearer, but all thoughts of it were wiped from Onyxia's mind as her vision abruptly returned. This time, instead of the jungle tinted purple by her crystal eyes, she saw the world in full colour.

She blinked.

The dry grass of the Borean Tundra reached up to her knees, jagged and spiky. The trees of Sholazar Basin spread beneath her to her right, the green of their leaves more vivid than she'd ever seen them. The sky was a canvas of stars that peeked through smatterings of clouds. Even when she was alive, blues and greens had never been so strong. Something ran deep underneath the earth like a river; she felt it tug at some part of her like a current, gentle and nibbling at her like tiny fish.

_What is that?_ she said.

_A ley line, _said Indigosa's voice in her mind. _We Blues always feel them._

Onyxia looked down at the ground. She could not see the ley line beneath the earth, but she saw her hands; both were skeletal and long-fingered, and her clothing had changed to sky-blue robes. She lifted her hands. Opened her mouth to speak. "This isn't my — "

She stopped.

Hearing Indigosa's voice when she spoke had to be one of the most awkward things she'd ever experienced.

_Deathwing is coming_, said Bolvar.

_You must be quick_, said Indigosa.

"She's not going to believe me if I speak to her in your body!" Onyxia whirled around. "Where is she?"

_Be silent!_ said Indigosa. _There are many Reds camped by the road leading to the basin. Nalice is there._

Onyxia turned. Noted the high rocks to the south, the basin to the north, the hills to the west. She crept up a hill. Once at the top, she flattened herself to the ground and looked down.

A few tents lay scattered at the side of the road. Red drakes milled about the scene. Some were human, some were elven. All shimmered with either red hair or scales, repairing nets, sharpening weapons or claws. With Indigosa's keen ears, Onyxia heard the distant whimpering of something small. _A whelpling_, she thought. _I know that sound._

But where was Nalice?

Indigosa's body moved without Onyxia's input, then, skidding down the side of the hill in the direction Onyxia had come and down behind some jagged rocks and mounds. Onyxia stiffened, too aware of the drakes that might hear, but Indigosa stepped into a small basin in the earth full of trees and bushes.

Something moved.

"Nalice?" Onyxia kept her voice low as she looked around. "It's me. Onyxia."

No response. No doubt Nalice was unimpressed.

"Fordragon allowed me to possess Indigosa," said Onyxia. "Deathwing's in the Borean Tundra, you need to go. Now!"

"And why should I be inclined to listen to you?" Nalice stepped out from behind a tree. "I doubt Fordragon would be so generous to my aunt."

_More frostwyrms are on their way,_ said Bolvar.

"What's that?" Nalice's head snapped upwards.

Onyxia looked up.

The clouds turned a dim red, leeching blue and green from the world by the second.

_He's here,_ said Bolvar.

Nalice brushed past Onyxia and climbed the slope. "I can hear him. Can't you?"

Onyxia did; the beating of massive wings with a span too long to measure sent winds rustling through grass and leaves. A wall of heat resonated from above. "Nalice!" she called out. "You stupid girl, you'll get us all killed!"

Nalice stopped at the top of the hill and looked down, unmoving. Smoke rose above the top of the hill, framing Nalice's silhouette in dark grey until something massive blotted out the sun.

A gust of wind blew a wave of heat towards Onyxia, taking her breath away as she crested the hill and beheld the behemoth wreaking havoc on the camp below. Deathwing's wings hid the stars. Drakes screamed as the camp blazed. Some rolled on the ground, seared by Deathwing's flame, their bodies charred and dying. Others rose against the monstrosity whose bulk cast the camp in shadow. Only a few made it as far as to attack Deathwing's scales. They were a fraction of the size of his massive head.

The earth shuddered as Deathwing landed in front of the camp, barely aware of the drakes that darted at him. His tail flicked, and five died. Only three drakes remained; he crushed one under a forepaw, plucked another from the air and bit down, and the last one turned and flew.

Deathwing did not follow.

From the burning remains of one tent rose Serinar, unharmed by his Flight's flame. But the fire had not left him untouched; his hair had singed away to his scalp and his clothing had been burned from his body. He yanked at his wrists; charred ropes fell to the ground and blew away, ash in the wind.

Nalice let out a long breath. Onyxia touched her arm; Nalice did not even pull away. "Nalice. _Go._"

If she saw what was bound to come next, it would be impossible to save her.

Another Black dragon landed on the edge of the basin, on the opposite side of the camp to Onyxia and Nalice. Onyxia stared. _What's Sabellian doing here?_

Deathwing didn't seem to notice the audience, though Onyxia had little doubt he knew they were there. Without shifting from his draconic form, Deathwing sat on his haunches and watched Serinar. Serinar sank to one knee, unfazed by his nakedness. Only then did Onyxia see the saronite collar around his neck, and the small whelpling that clung to his back. The whelpling struggled into the air, only to fall onto the ground. Spotting Nalice and Onyxia, it crawled through the soil towards them.

… What was wrong with its _legs_?

"Shrinekeeper." Deathwing took no notice. "You are shirking your duties."

"Serinar," said Nalice.

She made to step down the hill. Onyxia grabbed her arm. "Nalice, don't — "

Nalice wrenched her arm away. "Don't touch me."

"_Nalice_ — "

"Granddaughter." Deathwing's attention turned to the last female Black Dragon as she approached him. "The last of your kind."

As Nalice walked past it, the whelpling pawed at her feet. Nalice stopped. She looked down at it.

The whelpling clawed its way up the fabric that covered her leg, but Nalice did nothing except look back to Serinar and Deathwing as it crawled up her back and onto her shoulder. "What happened to her?"

A long silence passed. Serinar finally answered. His voice neither implored nor begged, only laid out the facts as if he described the weather. "The Reds captured me. They had put out bait for the whelplings. One of their number, Lirastrasza, snapped all of the child's limbs and did not set the bones properly before she healed her. She meant to leave her crippled." He snorted. "She thought I would care."

Deathwing looked to Sabellian on the other side of the camp, who watched in silence. Sabellian's claws curled in the dirt and his tail swished from side to side.

"You allowed yourself to be captured by the Reds." Deathwing looked back to Serinar. His words were calm, but his voice was dangerous and grated in Onyxia's ears. Even Sabellian's voice was not so deep, and held none of the scratchiness and resonance Deathwing's did.

"I did." Serinar offered no excuses, no justification. He remained in his place on the ground, avoiding Deathwing's eyes as was proper.

"What is done is done, and shall not happen again." Nalice looked up at Deathwing. "I know what you intend to do, Grandfather. Despite what my family thinks, I am no fool. I mean to offer myself in exchange for Serinar's life."

_No fool? _said Bolvar. _Indeed._

_No_, said Onyxia. _She isn't. She knows he won't accept it. When Deathwing's distracted with her, Serinar can escape._

Serinar held Nalice's eye, and his fingertips brushed the collar around his neck. Nalice stiffened, a silent message received. Understanding dawned on Onyxia. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach.

A flick of her brother's tail caught Onyxia's attention. Sabel her eye.

"I am disappointed." Deathwing looked down on the Shrinekeeper and his granddaughter. "You have always had your father's intelligence, Nalice, but not today."

"Nalice — " said Serinar.

Deathwing breathed fire.

It was not the red fire of the Black Dragonflight, not the fire he had breathed before. This fire charred the ground it touched as it bloomed around Serinar and sheathed him in purple and black. Someone was screaming; Onyxia wasn't sure if it was herself or Nalice. The unyielding stream of violet flame pushed a wall of heat outwards.

When it subsided, nothing remained but cracked, steaming earth.

Sabellian roared.

Nalice wasted no time. The whelpling on her clung to her scales as she shifted, her wings already pushing at the air, her bulk struggling to get off the ground. Indigosa shoved Onyxia out of control, leaving her as only a clinging witness as Indi transformed. Sabellian pushed off his perch into the sky. From the corner of her eye, Onyxia saw the faraway figures of frostwyrms on the horizon.

Deathwing sprung at Nalice. A massive set of claws swatted her small form out of the air. She plummeted to the ground, and the whelpling that clung to the scruff of her mother's neck shrieked. "No," Deathwing growled. "I need you to continue your grandmother's duty — "

Sabellian roared again. Onyxia watched as he swooped at Deathwing's eye.

Deathwing turned on Sabellian. A coldness sank into Onyxia as he swung another paw — and missed. And then Indigosa answered with another roar and went for the other eye. Onyxia felt the bones of Indigosa's claws burn in Deathwing's fluids as she sank them home and tore.

Deathwing bellowed. He turned on Indigosa —

(And then, in the split moment of time between one second and the next, Bolvar said, _Indi — _

And then Indi said,_ I would not have done this if I was not sure._)

She heard Sabellian roar once, deafening. The world turned purple. Hotness enveloped Onyxia and ripped at raw nerves. Everything burned.

The heat faded away into a frayed, electric tingle. Sabellian's cry faded into something faint, distorted and far away until she heard nothing at all. The tingling ebbed away into an icy sensation.

Everything was black.

_It's so cold._

Onyxia tried to move. Her limbs were stiff with the effort. She felt a curtain of hair over her face, felt the air push down on her from above. Something sharp and hard dug into her back. Her arm hurt and cracked from cold as she pushed outwards. The air was thick and heavy, like water —

_Water!_

Onyxia broke the surface and sat up in the shallow stream. As the current pushed at her waist, she felt the heat enchantments on her robes already kick in, thawing the frozen crystals in her face and neck. She felt their microscopic edges tear at the flesh inside her joints as she struggled to stand. She stumbled. Fell into the mud. Clawed her way, sodden and dirty, onto the bank of the stream. She lay there. Waited for the heat to melt the ice in her joints. She still felt phantom fire blazing on her skin, something she never wanted to experience again.

When she could move again without pain, she sat up.

Mud smeared her hair to her face. She wiped it from her eyes. Recognised the trees around her; Sabel must have dumped her body in the water before he flew, in case any drakes came sniffing around.

_Bolvar? _Her robes were heavy with water and mud, which made rising difficult. She stumbled again. Eventually managed to stand. _What happened?_

She listened to the silence. The glowing stars watched from above. Even the leaves on the trees were still, hanging from their branches like they were dead.

_Indigosa is dead,_ Bolvar finally answered. _She died the same way Serinar did. My frostwyrms were no match against Deathwing. Sabellian is taken, but alive._

Onyxia set her jaw. Looked down. Clenched her fists.

The silence stretched between them. She felt him there, his presence a faint feeling of pressure in her mind.

_And Nalice?_ she said.

_The undead are gathering_, said Bolvar. _I see her through their eyes now, flying east over the Borean Tundra. The crippled child might be with her._

_What about Deathwing?_

_He does not seem to be pursuing her._

_No?_ Onyxia blinked. _No. That's good news._ She looked down at her hands again. One was stripped entirely of skin, just as Indigosa's had been. The bones looked long without flesh.

Indigosa had been so good to them. She'd betrayed Bolvar so the Obsidian Dawn could survive.

And now, Serinar was dead. He'd been one of the oldest members of the Black Dragonflight, well into his thirty thousands. He had guarded the Obsidian Dragonshrine for millennia, and collapsed it so it could not be tainted by the footsteps of their enemies. He'd been their only living link to the old days before the War of the Ancients that Onyxia and Sabellian were too young to remember.

Serinar was gone. With him had died memories of a happier time, memories of a fuller dragonflight with their now-extinct philosophies and stories.

Onyxia hissed.

_I will not be taken down so easily._ Onyxia's hands curled into fists. A hot fire burned within her. She knew it well. A fire of determination, of anger, a flare of life that reminded her of Stormwind and Katrana Prestor's dangerous temper. Titans, she'd missed it, and she hadn't even known it, and the familiarity gave her strength. _I will fight them tooth and nail. Even if they destroy everything and everyone and I am the only one left, I will fight them. I will _end_ them. _

She checked Bolvar was still there. _You made me possess Indigosa. I can't fly — _

_I can repair your wings_, said Bolvar.

_Yes, _said Onyxia. _You must. But as Onyxia I cannot go anywhere. There are too many powerful hunters in the mercenary ranks; they would detect me even in mortal form. How long can I possess another body for, if you helped me?_

_I can possess Eduard indefinitely_, said Bolvar._ Some undead are easier than others._

_You taught me in Stormwind that no one wins a war if they play on the defensive. _Onyxia smiled grimly, uncurling her fingers to gaze at her palms. She saw chess pieces in front of her mind's eye, heard Bolvar's gentle voice as he taught her how to play the game she'd been terrible at, at first. _You were right. Nalice knew we'd die if we stayed in a hole. It is time we went on the offensive. We need to find the Black Prince and for that, I need another body. Teach me how to use one, and then we will find him ourselves and end this once and for all._

She felt him perk. Almost as if he welcomed the return of her old determination.

_I will_, said the Lich King.


	61. Children

_**A/N:** So I go off and disappear on everyone's asses again. I'm very sorry about that. I still can't promise regular updates but I am seeing this thing through to the end, come hell or high water, and knowing another expansion will be announced soon has lit a fire under my ass because I've got so many ideas I want to write about before then._

_BUT, good news is, I'm ahead by a few chapters and at this point, on the first draft, I'm actually about two or three chapters away from the end, making this chapter about... maybe half a dozen chapters from the end, give or take._

_Whoa._

_Thank you, as always, to everyone who has reviewed. It means the world to me when people leave feedback on my work._

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

A path wound up the side of one of the Alterac Mountains which hugged close to the Hinterlands. The horses made their way up in single file. As their steps changed from the muffled crunching of grass to the sound of clopping against stone, everything went dark and Wrathion felt the sun's heat disappear. In its place came a cool breeze, and the sound of echoes.

Wrathion opened his eyes.

The caravan of horses and rogues made their way through a dim passage in the rock, leaving the bright emerald of Hillsbrad behind them. Wrathion yawned, and stretched out his tail. Fahrad's hand came down to gently hold him in place as the horse rocked the two of them. Wrathion curled up, and waited.

The dark tunnel soon gave way to natural light, the rough stone to cobbles. The sun's heat returned to his scales. Stone walls fell away to reveal fields of vines, wheat, orchards. Ravenholdt's little hideaway was much bigger than Wrathion had thought. As the caravan passed, servants raised their heads from underneath their broad-brimmed hats. Some smiled. Others hunched their shoulders and returned to work.

The path, now a road, circled the mountain. The slanted fields clung to the slopes like goats to Ironforge Mountain.

And then Ravenholdt Manor appeared.

If any building could belong to a mountain, thought Wrathion, it would be Ravenholdt. The structure stood tall, made of white, Stormwind stone combined with wood of pre-Plague Lordaeron, a collaboration between two kingdoms darnished here and there with a touch of Gilneas, a dash of Stromgarde, even a sprinkling of Dalaran. It was too big for the courtyard that held it. Ivy embraced the walls. Some patches of the wall were bare from where the ivy had been torn away.

"Halt," said Fahrad.

The line stopped.

Fahrad cradled Wrathion to his chest as he slid off their horse. A shadow peeled away from one of the courtyard walls; a young girl, no more than twelve, her hair a mousey brown. Her thin hand took the reins of the horse and led it away. As the rest of the entourage dismounted, other servants appeared and followed suit.

As Wrathion watched them go, he caught sight of Katrina Hackett, one eyed and glaring at him, her hair stringy from weeks on the road. He huffed smoke from his nostrils. Fahrad looked over. Hackett bowed her head.

"Is she going to be trouble?" Wrathion wriggled his snout.

"She has family in the Sludge Fields." Fahrad continued to watch her. "She was in Southshore when it was attacked by the Forsaken. She has been trying to convince us to take the Fields for months now. Her family are probably dead."

"They are not," said Wrathion. "I have seen them."

"You see much."

"More than you know," said Wrathion. _I know what you are._

If Fahrad noticed the warning, he gave no indication. Instead, his head turned. Wrathion followed his gaze; an old man with dark skin and iron-grey hair strode from the manor's great arch towards them. His clothing was made of the finest silk, and his boots gleamed in the sun.

Fahrad opened his arms to allow Wrathion to flutter from them and hover beside him. Fahrad bowed. "Lord Ravenholdt." The other rogues, even Katrina Hackett, followed his example.

The grey-haired man inclined his head. "Grand Master Fahrad. I see you have returned."

"At last." Fahrad rose at Lord Ravenholdt's gesture. "The journey here was difficult. The rains made the roads a struggle for the horses, in parts, but we are here."

Lord Ravenholdt's eyes turned to Wrathion. They narrowed. "So this is the Blackwhelp you left me without half of my forces for. I was under the impression he would be more fearsome, perhaps."

"You may address me as Lord Wrathion." Wrathion alighted on Fahrad's shoulder. "The world is at war, Lord Ravenholdt, and good men should always be on the winning side."

"And whose side are you on?" Ravenholdt cocked his head, a bored glaze over his eyes.

"As I said," said Wrathion, "the winning one. Allow me to put your mind at ease, Lord Ravenholdt. I am the Black Prince."

"And who is the Black Prince?"

"The heir of the Black Dragonflight," said Wrathion. "Or, as some have become accustomed to calling me, the Heir of Earth. I am Deathwing's son — " or so everyone believed. As if tiny little Nyxondra could have survived mating with _that_ behemoth. " — and I will inherit the earth, and his powers, when he is dead. And soon, I will be the only one left of the Black Dragonflight."

"So you are Deathwing's enemy." Lord Ravenholdt crossed his arms.

"I would be Deathwing's enemy if he could find me," said Wrathion. "But he cannot. He and his forces and the Old Gods have given up their pursuit of me. The world may fight against gods, Lord Ravenholdt, but those gods know better than to fight against _me_."

"So why are you special, Lord Wrathion?" Ravenholdt raised his eyebrows.

"Because I am the only Black dragon in the entire world that the Old Gods do not speak to," said Wrathion. "I was purified as an egg. Many have waited for my arrival. The Old Gods. Deathwing. The Red Dragonflight. The Obsidian Dawn. Mercenaries from both the Horde and the Alliance. I am the worst kept secret in Azerothian history. Some call me the Black Messiah. I am here to save the world from itself, Lord Ravenholdt, but I do it my way. And I need your rogues to make that happen."

"How?"

"The Old Gods control the earth and many things upon it," said Wrathion. "The Black Dragonflight are their oldest and most powerful weapons. They are weak, they fell to simple whispers and have been corrupt ever since. My first move will be to disarm them, to remove this threat. The Black Dragonflight must go extinct."

"And that includes you, you realise." Ravenholdt watched him.

"I am not the Black Dragonflight," said Wrathion. "I am me."

Ravenholdt's lips twitched in the faintest of smiles. "You have an ambitious task ahead of you."

"Not too ambitious." Wrathion licked his maw. "Deathwing's armies will be taken care of by the mercenaries, leaving only the stragglers that are in hiding. The greatest threat are a subfaction known as the Obsidian Dawn, but with the death of one of their number, they have splintered and have been rendered as harmless as mortals. The last breeding female alive, Nalice, escaped Deathwing, but it is only a matter of time before he goes after her again."

_She is coming here_, said a sudden flash of thought in his head.

Wrathion paused.

_Hmm_, he thought. _Problematic._ In his mind's eye, he watched Nalice swoop across the sky with the continent of Northrend giving way to flat seas beneath her. He felt the ache of her wings, the dull haze of disbelief in her mind, and…

_Serinar_, she thought.

Her heart felt as if it had been ripped out of her chest and the wound had been coated in salt.

"Of course." He jerked away from her and her pain. "The most dangerous member is one that will arrive in Lordaeron shortly. A woman by the name of Samia Inkling carries an egg, and inside that egg is my rival, the most dangerous dragon in ths world, even more dangerous than me. A mere child, he is the great-grandson of Deathwing. He was taken from his mother's clutch to become a decoy. _My_ decoy. He was chosen because he has great natural power because of his blood, and I have little doubt that the Old Gods are nurturing him as we speak."

"He is just a child, then." Ravenholdt frowned.

"So am I," said Wrathion.

-o-O-o-

When they arrived at Wrathion's new room, Lord Ravenholdt excused himself and Fahrad, and disappeared. Wrathion nudged the door shut behind them, and landed on the floor.

Hmm. What form would he take? Human, perhaps? The Black Dragonflight shared a close affinity to humanity, after all.

He shifted. His hind legs turned into human legs, his forelegs into arms. Wavy black hair fell over his eyes. Small bumps formed on the skin his scales had become, and the air made him shiver.

He plodded about the room naked, learning to use his two legs, exploring. He stumbled to a window and gripped the sill, waiting for his mind to adjust to his new body. He gazed outside. He saw a clear view of the fields and gardens of Ravenholdt, underneath stretches of blue sky, and a few battered training dummies. Beyond the grounds of Ravenholdt, he saw the Alterac Mountains. Jagged peaks rolled as far as his eye could see, doused with tumbling snow and orbited by clouds. Breathless, Wrathion gazed at them. With his keen eyes, he saw the occasional ruin dotting the mountainsides, caught glimpses of movement too small even for him to make out. The sky deepened the further he looked up, and its brightness made him sneeze. The sky stretched on endlessly into blues that went deeper with height. Wrathion tightened his grip on the windowsill. If he let go, he'd fall into that sky and, spinning, see nothing but mountains below him that went on forever.

This earth, this beautiful earth, was all his.

He turned back to his room.

In front of another massive window was a double bed. A wardrobe stood to one side, and a carpet lay plush under Wrathion's feet. A mirror leaned against the wall beside the bed, shining the sun against the wall.

In it stood a boy with curly hair and red eyes. About… fourteen human years? The boy reminded Wrathion of the prince whose mind he'd seen in Stormwind from time to time. "Too much acne," the boy in the mirror said, and his skin smoothed. His head tilted. "This voice does not sound what I expected it to." He stepped closer. His skin dark skin cleared, and when Wrathion looked closely, he saw a subtle pattern of scales on the skin.

He turned to the wardrobe.

He fussed and rummaged for an hour before he found a set of clothing he liked. He twisted fabric on top of his head, struggled to learn the delicate art of balancing and dressing simultaneously. Fell over a few times. Crawled awkwardly to his feet, started again.

If only he was in his egg again, wandering minds instead of oak floors. The mortals of Azeroth had taught him much. It was a shame he hadn't been able to enter the minds of the Bronzes; their excessive time travelling made it impossible for their minds to be anchored to the present. He could learn much from them. Perhaps their minds were the last safe bastions from the Old Gods for the same reason. Although, wouldn't they one day become Infinite? _Hmm._

His fear of falling flat on his face in front of others was eventually outweighed by his impatience, and Wrathion hobbled from the room, only to be confronted by his first staircase. He stood at the top and sighed. A nearby rogue eyed him with uncertainty, standing guard by the wall.

"Not a word," said Wrathion, shifted into a whelpling, and fluttered to the bottom.

Outside, the sun beat down as if the rains of their journey had never happened. Rogues training in the square outside glanced at him as he passed, and then looked away.

Shrill voices and laughter reached his ears.

At the base of a wall in the garden of poisons clustered five or six children of varying ages. Not far away, the servant girl with mouse-coloured hair watched with longing as she clutched her basket of toxic leaves. The twisted frown on her face made her look older than twelve. Maybe, like him, she'd seen too much to be young anymore.

The children played with small, white things in the grass, passing them from hand to hand too quickly for Wrathion's eyes to identify. Bones? "I'll get in trouble with Mama if she sees us using these," said a girl of about seven, her blonde hair so light it was almost white.

A ten year old boy with dark skin and hair said, "Those aren't toys."

"No, they're not," said the blonde-haired girl. "They tell the future! Do you want me to tell your future?"

_Can you tell my future?_ Wrathion stepped closer. _Can I tell yours? Can I see?_

He stopped.

_I am the Black Prince. This is beneath me._

But the white bones he glimpsed, passing from one hand to another, enraptured him. _I want to see._ He took another step.

_Then look into her head_, he thought. _But no, it's cheating, it's not fun if I do that._

No. He didn't have time for fun. He was the Black Prince.

He caught a flashes of colour on the bones. Blue, red, green. Purple, that looked like a dragon's head.

"How many people am I gonna kill?" asked a four year old girl. She looked like the oldest boy, there; they must be siblings. "Am I gonna be a rogue when I grow up, like mummy?"

The blonde girl solemnly cast the bones. "I… don't know. They're all face down. Does that mean you're gonna die?"

The youngest girl began to cry. The oldest boy rolled his eyes. "It's not true." He patted the crying girl on the back. "It just means you're going to be invisible, just like mum. So yes, you'll be a rogue."

"I guess?" The blonde girl squinted.

"What are you doing?" Wrathion stalked towards them before he could stop himself.

The youngest girl's friend, about her age, had black hair cut cleanly at the shoulders. She almost looked like a Prestor, and if Wrathion hadn't known better, he'd think she was Katrina Hackett's daughter. She scowled at Wrathion. "We're _playing_."

"That's dark magic you're using, there." Wrathion stopped to look at the runes in the grass, feeling vindictive glee rise up within him. "Those are _real_ troll knucklebones. Trolls curse them so anyone else who uses them dies before they grow up."

The children exchanged fearful glances.

The oldest boy scoffed. "No, they don't."

"Really?" Wrathion fixed his eyes on him. He looked like the rogue from the top of the stairs. "Why don't you come closer and say that? Maybe I'm the one who'll deliver your death."

The boy scowled. The other children clucked and hovered.

Wrathion lunged and the children scattered like chickens, shrieking and bolting out of sight.

Satisfied, Wrathion looked down at the knucklebones abandoned in the grass. One by one, he scooped them into his hands. He counted nine of them, blank sides all facing the sun. On the other sides, each was carved with runes, with dye rubbed into the notches.

He caught a flash of purple in the grass.

The tenth lay face up in the dirt. The rune, like its brothers and sisters, bore a mess of notches. Wrathion knelt beside it. The purple notches almost looked like a dragon's head, with a green line beside it that reminded Wrathion of the vats in Undercity's Apothecarium he'd glimpsed through his mental wanderings of the occasional Forsaken. Above the dragon was a fan of yellow, like a crown.

_No_. Wrathion picked it up. _A sun. Or does it symbolise some other light?_

Grass crunched behind him. Wrathion recognised Katrina Hackett's scent a second before she spoke. "Who are you, dragon, and what do you want?"

Wrathion paused. He stood up, but did not turn around. "Do you need something, Hackett?"

She rounded him to his front, crossed her arms and aimed a sharp eye at him. She was taller. " There are people dying in the Sludge Fields, and instead, Fahrad chose to rescue a little Black dragon. What do you want from us, Wrathion? What's your purpose here that you think it's more important than the injured and the dying?"

"You have a husband." Wrathion closed his fingers over the rune. "And a son. Only one child. Not for lack of love, but because you struggled to conceive and carry to term. Stress does that to a woman's body." He smiled. "You fled to Southshore from Onyxia's sinister legacy years ago, and you fled again when the Forsaken attacked, and you were separated from your husband and son. You suspect they are both in the Sludge Fields."

Katrina Hackett pressed her mouth into a long, thin line. What would Bolvar Fordragon think if he was here? She looked more like Katrana Prestor than Onyxia's undead body did, missing eye notwithstanding.

"You are correct, Hackett." Wrathion's smile grew. He slid the runes into a pouch at his hip. "They do brutal things to humans there. Your husband is buried in the ground up to his neck like a plant, and he's been there long enough for his limbs to start rotting." As he watched the blood drain from her face, he continued. "Your son may survive, but his time will come, too."

He folded his hands in front of him. "To answer your question, I am here because I need a base of operations. There are a few Black dragons that have not answered Deathwing's call. There are those who are part of the Obsidian Dawn, a small band of rebels which has been broken, and there are others who are in hiding, and almost all of them are alone. Your colleagues will hunt them for me." He upturned his empty palms. "The dragons left are so weak that only a few rogues will be required for each. Except for the most magically powerful dragons such as Onyxia and Sabellian, we are massively depowered in mortal form, you see, the bulk of our strength comes from our tails and claws."

"So you're fighting Deathwing." Katrina Hackett lowered her eyes.

"Yes," said Wrathion.

"But you're not on our side."

"It's your group who is on _my_ side, _Reenie_," said Wrathion. Katrina's eyes snapped up in a glower.

"What about the people in the Sludge Fields?" said Katrina. "Won't you help them? If you're fighting your own Dragonflight, you _must_ be good, but…" Her brow furrowed.

Wration entered her mind. _Can dragons be good?_ She thought. _This one must be good if he's fighting Deathwing, but if he's hunting his own Flight then… _

Her thoughts fluttered in her head, like fish in water, and slipped away from him. Wrathion strained to read them. Her thoughts distorted and blurred. They faded away into silence.

Wrathion blinked. What?

He listened to her head, as she waited expectantly for him. Her good eye watched him, but her mind made not a sound.

Why? Why couldn't he hear her thoughts, all of a sudden?

"Wrathion?" she said.

Right. The Sludge Fields.

"They are not my priority," said Wrathion.

Katrina tilted her head, her mouth slightly open. "I don't understand. You must be a good dragon."

"I'm surprised you can even contemplate a good dragon existing, considering what happened to your family."

"But you're fighting the Black Dragonflight," said Katrina. "Fahrad won't listen to us anymore. He'll listen to _you_, though. Tell him to send his men to the Sludge Fields! Rescue them!"

Wrathion shook his head. "Not worth it."

"I don't understand," said Katrina. "Why not?"

"Because there are too many mouths to feed, and we cannot anger the Forsaken," said Wrathion. "No, that would draw too much attention to me. I believe — "

"How _could_ you?" Katrina watched him, open-mouthed. "You're — you — " She covered her mouth. Lookde down. Looked up at him again. "I was so angry at Fahrad for just ignoring them, I — " She swore, scowled, looked away. "You're bewitching him, aren't you? I _knew_ it. Like Onyxia bewitched Bolvar Fordragon. How are you any different from her?"

"I am very different," said Wrathion.

"I suppose you are right." Katrina looked at him. "Even Onyxia didn't try to wipe out her own people."

"She didn't need to try, she managed it by accident," said Wrathion. "And as I recall, don't you _want_ the Black Dragonflight dead?"

"But why would _you_? You're one of them."

"They want me dead because of how I was born," said Wrathion. "It seems prudent to eliminate one's enemy, don't you think?"

"But you're going after the ones who aren't fighting Deathwing, Fahrad said," said Katrina. "Wouldn't they be better allies to you than us?"

"No," said Wrathion. "They are corrupted by the Old Gods. I am not. Did you know, Katrina Hackett, that that is why Deathwing destroyed your family? The voices in his head made him do it. Once upon a time my people were pure, and strong, but not anymore. They are poisoned, now, and they must be put down."

Her thoughts swam. Appeared again. _I can't tell whether to appreciate he wants them all dead, or condemn him for turning on his own_, she was thinking._ And Richard! Carlos! How could he just — _

He tuned out. How odd. What did she have in common with Sabellian, Seldarria and the decoy, that she could partially hide her thoughts like that?

Or was it Seldarria, hiding Katrina's mind from him? Hmm.

_I have to leave_, Katrina Hackett thought. _I have to find Carlos — _

"You are going to run away to try to save your dying family," said Wrathion. "Some will defect with you. You will not succeed; you do not stand a chance against the Forsaken."

Katrina Hackett took a step back. Watched him.

"I shan't raise the alarm." Wrathion placed his hands behind his back, still holding the knucklebones. "I have no use for those whose hearts are not fully on my side, and there are so few of you I do not see the point in using my magic to sway you to my side. I have gleaned what effort that was to Onyxia, and I will not fall into that trap. Go, then."

Katrina Hackett narrowed her good eye.

She turned and walked away.

When she was gone, Wrathion held out his fists. "Tell me about the decoy."

He threw the knucklebones into the air, and allowed them to fall. In the grass, he stooped to examine the ones that had landed face up.

There was one, green, that looked like a small child. The decoy, no doubt. Another, a circle. Did it represent an egg, or the world? The third was distinct; a red tear drop. _Blood. Conflict. War._ The fourth was a scribble of black, and Wrathion thought he could make out tentacles.

"Just as I thought," he said, and picked them all up.

-o-O-o-

Out here, wherever Samia had washed up, the waves were small things that urged her and the egg onto a grey beach. Rain sprayed her from above. A thick mist shrouded most of the world, except for the silhouettes of pines. Pebbles dug into her scales. She clawed herself away from the water's edge. She reached for the egg and dragged it up with her. Grains of sand stuck to the both of them.

She flopped on her back. Blinked as rain fell in her eyes. She closed them. She couldn't be bothered to roll over. Everything ached. The gnawing in her stomach, sated only here and there with the occasional fishshe'd managed to catch, ached.

"I think we're here." She turned her head. Felt one of the egg's spines bump against her forehead. "I saw pines. This must be Tirisfal. We must have completely missed Quel'Thalas."

She inhaled.

Smelled nothing.

That was strange.

She groaned, and forced herself to sit up. She shifted back into the form of a human. Her clothing had dried in the nether, but the rain and muddy sand made short work of that. Samia looked to the trees.

"It's a long way back from here," she said, quietly, to the egg. "Going back from Undercity would be a bad idea, my Orcish isn't good enough, so it'd be suspicious if I posed as a member of the Horde. And I don't speak any other Horde language well enough to get away with that. I could try a blood elf, since some of them speak Common, but I don't speak Thalassian…" She sighed.

The egg said nothing.

"I think my sense of smell is fucked up." Samia inhaled again. "I couldn't smell anything as a naga, but I thought that maybe their sense of smell was shitty, but…" She rubbed her running nose. "It must be the dragonbane powder I got in my face on the ship. I got a whole noseful of it. It must've fucked it up." She sighed. "I hope Sabel can fix it, when I see him next."

_If_ she saw him next.

"How do you suppose the Obsidian Dawn's doing?" she said to the egg. "I wonder if Nalice's children have hatched yet. If anyone's killed anyone else yet. Do you think Sabel's given up on them yet? They don't like him much. Most dragons don't. They like trying to kill him. They don't like it when people are crippled, it's almost like they take personal offence to it."

The egg still did not answer.

"I wonder when you're going to hatch," said Samia. "I know eggs hatch when they sense terror. I'm kind of always scared, so, I'm sure it'll be soon." She looked at it. "Which one are you? If you're the decoy, then the real one'll be beyond our reach now, I've been swimming since…" Fuck. How long had she been in the ocean? "Forever. God, I'm starving." She half-heartedly scraped in the sand. "Maybe there's some crabs here. If this is Tirisfal, I doubt there'd be much to eat except what we can scavenge. I don't think I'm desperate enough to kill a Scourge and eat them. Does it count as cannibalism if I'm not really human anymore? What if I turned into something that ate people anyway? Do naga eat people? What about murlocs?"

Something crunched, further up on the beach. It took a moment for it to register in Samia's dulled senses. When she looked up, she saw nothing there.

_Oh, great, something's spying on me. Must be Forsaken. Great._

Samia climbed to her feet.

She reached to her waist. Good — her knives were still there. Her eyes probed the dim, fog-drenched beach. "Who's there?"

Nothing answered. Of course nothing did.

She stumbled closer to the egg. Drew a knife.

She heard the crunch of sand just in time to duck.

Something big and red arced a knife just where her head had been. With adrenaline shooting a shock through her veins like a hot prod, she found the energy to twist to the side and spring to her feet, only to stagger where she stood. She saw teeth, blue eyes, a feral snarl. "_Die, Forsaken!_"

"I'm _not_ Forsaken!" Of all the things to say when she was about to die! Her words came out slurred as she stumbled to the side to dodge another attack. She rolled onto her back.

"You look pretty dead to me." A man in scarlet leather pounced on her, driving the air from Sam's lungs. She gasped as he siezed her throat. She felt tight fingers dig in. "You miserable piece of Scourge shit."

_Help!_ Sam called out to the elements. _Please, help!_

Her head slammed against the ground. She felt her hand shift, grab the man's wrist, felt her own claws dig in and tear. She tried to summon a fireball with her other hand, but it sputtered out again as Samia felt the edges of the world grow dim from lack of air. Her lungs burned. She blinked away rain. She saw the silhouette of a knife against the grey sky.

Samia heard the man snarl. Samia felt, rather than saw, him look at her claws. "What the hell _are_ you?"

Samia's grip tightened. She felt hot blood spurt between her claws. The man screeched like a wounded bird. The weight vanished from her chest. Air flooded her lungs and made her head spin. Splotches filled her vision, leaving her blind. Samia staggered to her feet, but the world swam and the ground fell out from beneath her, sending her crashing into the sand.

Something crunched underneath her.

A shriek scraped her ears. Her attacker swore. Samia's vision began to clear. A black blur dove at a red one, two silhouettes against a grey sky. More red spurted into the air, and all the colours fell to the ground with a heavy thud and a pained yell. Sand exploded into the air as an earth elemental emerged, and grains fell into Samia's eyes, leaving her to blink away the sting.

Something gurgled. There was another shriek.

Everything went quiet.

Roaring and ringing filled Samia's ears, and stifled all sound. Samia sat up. The roaring ebbed, replaced by a steady buzz that ran beneath everything like a current. The world came back into focus, and the dizziness slowly ebbed.

Something dug into Samia's leg. She pulled it out from underneath her. Turned it over in her hands.

A large piece of eggshell.

She looked up.

A rogue lay dead on the beach, head partially caved in. His tabard bore the sigil of the Scarlet Crusade. His blood, darker than the red he was clothed in, soaked the sand. An earth elemental watched, fists stained with red.

And on top of the dead man, the tiniest Blackwhelp Samia had ever seen feasted on his flesh.


	62. Fractures and Prayers

_**A/N**: Yo! Been a while!_

_The first draft of TOD is finished, and I'm editing the rest over Easter break. _

_For now, here's another chapter to tide you over!_

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

* * *

Covered in mud and muck, Onyxia staggered back across the stream and onto the opposite bank. The Icecrown side of Sholazar Basin rose above the trees, an impenetrable wall. With her wings gone, and no Sabel left to carry her, she'd have to find another way up.

She ran her skeletal hand through her hair, catching leaves and twigs as she began her journey through the underbrush. Mud stuck to her clothes. Serinar, dead. Sabel, captured. Indigosa, gone up in smoke. Nalice, fled. And Samia was far out of reach. Perhaps that was for the best, all things considered.

_The walls are closing in_, Sabel had said.

_They've been closing in since before Onyxia died,_ Nalice had said.

Onyxia's foot caught on a root, sending her into a tree wet with moss. Hissing, she straightened up and continued.

Nalice's visage appeared in her mind's eye. _How long did you think you could outrun the world? We are alone. We have only postponed the inevitable._

Serinar. Dead. His last word had been _Nalice._

"It's not over yet," Onyxia murmured. "It's not over until I damn well say it is."

_Find the Black Prince_, Sabel had said to Nalice.

Nalice, who could be anywhere by now.

_She is my daughter_, Sabellian had said. _She will survive._

There was nothing left to cling to but small prayers. Prayers that Nalice would survive. Prayers that Samia found the right egg. Prayers that the Heir of Earth, the Black Prince, the Messiah would save them all.

_The Ambassador will meet you at the eastern wall_, said Bolvar. Onyxia jumped; she'd forgotten he was there. _I have had him leave Wyrmrest Temple. It is not safe there anymore, as Lirastrasza demonstrated with her threat._

_She threatened to go to war against you if you did not turn up Nalice_, said Onyxia. _I do not think Icecrown Citadel is safe either._

A small, bitter chuckle from Fordragon. _It's a Citadel. It'll be fine, I'm already sealing the entrances. The Reds won't be able to afford to go to war with me, they're busy with Deathwing and the Twilight Flight. It won't be too long until Alexstrasza figures out that they're creating another Dragon Soul in Sholazar — she'll want to focus on that more than me._

_I hope you're right_, said Onyxia.

Hours seemed to pass before she made it back to the eastern wall. The Ambassador crouched there in his frostwyrm form, and smoothly plucked Onyxia in the cage of his claws and carried her away.

The journey back seemed timeless. Despite the warming charm on her clothes, the frigid Northrend air froze Onyxia's limbs solid and left her hair brittle, like a million strands of black ice. She was so frozen that she couldn't move her joints, and had to be carried into Icecrown Citadel by an undead vrykul, with the Ambassador trailing behind in his Forsaken form.

The vrykul carried her deep within the keep to a wing that seemed to be made for living envoys to the Lich King. There were carpets on the floors, though they did little to warm the rooms, and a large chamber with a massive bed. Attached was a simple bathroom. The vrykul heated up the basin with some wood brought from Titans knew where, and a small fire. The Ambassador came in, blue hair tied neatly at his nape, with an armful of warm clothing. As steam heated the room, Onyxia's joints thawed. She washed her hair in the basin and scrubbed every inch of what was left of her skin, caked in frozen mud from where Sabel had shoved her into the stream. The clothing the Ambassador gave her was a little too large. She adjusted her form to compensate.

She gazed in the mirror afterwards, conscious of the purple crystals in her eyes, and combed out the knots in her hair as best as she could. She looked like a wild thing, so many lifetimes distant from Katrana Prestor lording over her mortal subjects.

In the mirror, she glimpsed Tariona White.

"Here." Tariona White held a chest in her smoldering arms. "A gift from Fordragon. Figured you could use it. There's some heat spells on the clothes you're wearing, but this has even more. Can't have too many of those up here when you're dead, I guess. It's amazing the Scourge never freeze solid without any body heat. I may be naked, but at least I'm on fire."

The chest was made of saronite, but looked light. When Tariona set it on the ground, Onyxia gently opened it. A large fur cloak lay within. It fit her perfectly.

"It's hot," said Onyxia.

"I thought a Black dragon would like that," said Tariona.

"I do," said Onyxia. "I like heat. Makes me think of home."

Tariona White smiled, then, a weak shadow of a thing. "Do you really intend to make dragonspawn of us all, when this is over?"

"I do."

Tariona White's eyes searched her. "You don't look like Katrana Prestor anymore. You resemble her, but you don't… everything else. You even speak a different way, now. Hold yourself differently. You sound sad."

Onyxia shrugged. "Change."

"Change," said Tariona White. "You're stubborn as ever, at least. I'm here to take you to one of the hidden chambers. The entrances are all being sealed, I think Bolvar told you that. We don't think the Reds will lay a siege, at least not for some time, but it cannot hurt. Bolvar's going to introduce you to Lesliora."

As Tariona White led the way, Onyxia fell into step behind her. "Who's Lesliora?"

"One of his agents," said Tariona White. "He has a lot of agents in the Horde thanks to the Forsaken, but he only has one within the Alliance. Lesliora is a Death Knight who was present at his… coronation, I suppose you'd call it. She's of the Frostmoon Federation and helped defeat Arthas."

"I see." Onyxia caught a glimpse of red. She turned her head just in time to see another Eternal Watcher duck into a side passage — she'd forgotten Bolvar and Tariona weren't the only mortals damned by the Red fire. With the entrances to Icecrown Citadel being sealed, the rest of the Wrathgate survivors must have all returned, saronite be damned.

"She makes it easier to infiltrate the Alliance." Tariona White pulled at a bracket in the wall, revealing a narrow passage set into the brick. "Even if you were alive, the hunters are more astute at picking out dragonkin than ever. Possession makes that not an issue." She shut the passage door behind them, leaving them in blackness, except for the illumination of the glowing embers in Tariona's skin.

Tariona led her to a massive chamber with a high roof. The Ambassador and Eduard stood together, and between them stood a burnt corpse.

Wait, that wasn't a corpse.

"Bolvar," said Onyxia. "You look… different."

"You mean he's on fire," said Tariona, flatly.

Bolvar Fordragon was almost unrecognisable. His skin was blackened and charred, and between the cracks Onyxia saw red fire smolder. His eyes were liquid gold. He held the Helm of Domination under one arm. His face was expressionless. "So do you, Onyxia."

"Lady Onyxia." Eduard stepped forward. "Kindly, if it may please you — could you turn into a dragon? I am here to fix your wings."

"What a relief," Onyxia murmured as she stepped into the centre of the room. When her clothes were replaced with scales, she lay down on the cold floor, curling her tail around her.

Eduard approached. "I may have to walk on you, Lady."

"Go ahead." Onyxia lay down her blinking head. Bolvar took a step towards her. Eduard scrambled up her flank. "Bolvar. Lady White said something about meeting one Lesliora?"

"Yes," said Bolvar. "She is a half-elf in the Frostmoon Federation. I had her travel to the Vermillion Redoubt to see if we could have her find any information on those eggs."

"And you think the Reds will just tell her?"

"The Frostmoon Federation are highly trusted, especially those who defeated Arthas," said Bolvar. "I don't think it will be any trouble for Lesliora at all. Now. I need to calm yourself. Relax. To possess another body, you need to let go of this one."

Onyxia closed her eyes.

"Ease out." She felt him gently nudge her being. "Feel yourself float. Don't worry. Don't panic. Nothing will happen to your body, you won't be disconnected from it, only… stepping aside, for a short while."

_Feel your vision fade away_, he continued. _Seeing nothing. Feeling nothing. Hearing nothing but my voice._

She felt as if she could walk through walls, as if she could pass through the floor. Instead, she floated in darkness.

_Follow_, he said.

She felt the sensation of… travel? But she felt no air whipping against her, saw no colours blur past her, felt only a faraway sense of moving. She saw and yet did not see thousands of little lights, felt herself pass through all of them until they thinned and faded away completely. After a while, they returned, though far thinner than before.

_We're passing through Lordaeron, and the dead here_, said Bolvar. The lights grew thinner still, until they disappeared entirely. One appeared on the horizon, brighter than the rest. _And here she is. This is Lesliora._

Onyxia approached the light. Brighter, clearer, for the bright and clear mind within. Lesliora touched her, a distant and foreign feeling.

_This is her, then?_ said a woman's voice. _Onyxia._

_Yes_, said Bolvar. _She is our ally, for now._

_We live in interesting times_, said Lesliora. _Or don't, in my case. I must congratulate you, Onyxia, for taking down the Brotherhood of Cinders. The Frostmoon Federation is much in your debt, and it's taken them years to catch back up to us. Alas, if only I had been around to see their fall._

_Be grateful you weren't_, said Onyxia.

_You trust Onyxia, Highlord?_ said Lesliora. Onyxia could still feel nothing, see nothing. _She manipulated you in Stormwind, as others have told me._

_I trust her, and I ask you to trust me_, said Bolvar. _She needs our help to save her kind from Deathwing, and the others. She has promised me and the Eternal Watchers her help in return._

_As you wish. _Lesliora huffed. _But there are rules to using my body._

_Onyxia, don't do anything violating_, said Bolvar. _Make sure Lesliora is always present and aware. If she tries to take control, let her, with no questions asked. Violation of any of these rules mean you won't be allowed to do this again._

_I understand_, said Onyxia. _I will follow your rules._

_Good_, said Lesliora. Onyxia started as she felt Lesliora's being surround her. _Do not panic, Onyxia. It will be weak, since I am far from Northrend, but as I am holding onto you, you will find possession easier._

Onyxia opened her eyes. Her vision was clear. Colours were duller than they were for humans, but Onyxia recognised the cliffs of the Twilight Highlands. She flexed long, tapered fingers.

_We're looking for information on that dragon egg I spoke to you about_, said Bolvar. _Are you sure it will be here?_

_I can't guarantee it is here_, said Lesliora. _But if the agent is who I think it is, it should arrive here soon._

_Explain?_ said Onyxia.

_One of my guildamates claimed he had a mission with the Wyrmrest Accord_, said Lesliora. _He left abruptly with several of our best fighters as protection, but gave no more explanation. Bolvar came to me asking about dragon eggs, and given the importance of this egg, I believe that John may have carried it. And from my own knowledge, I believe it would come here._ _It may just be coincidence, but it's time to find out. Are you ready, Lady Onyxia?_

_I am ready._

The sky above them stretched on in a cloudless blue. The emerald grass came to Lesliora's knees as Onyxia took her first few tentative steps. Above them, on the crest of a steep hill, a tree stretched to the sky.

_Only a few guards_, said Lesliora as Onyxia walked them both up the slope. _Your egg is not here, nor is it expected._

Far away, Onyxia felt her own body hiss. _If Inkling failed…_

_Failed in what?_ said Lesliora. _Finding this egg of yours? Whatever has happened, has happened. There will be nothing you can do about it._

A few Red drakes wheeled in the sky. Some others walked amongst the grass in human or elven form, their red and gold heads dotting the hills beneath.

_And what exactly are we going to do when we reach the top?_ said Lesliora. _Just ask them? 'Oh, hey, have you seen an egg lately? Mind telling me everything?'_

_I'll take care of it,_ said Onyxia._ By the Titans, this hill is enormous, how do you mortals manage without flight?_

As Onyxia grew closer, the tree's true size became apparent. The trunk seemed to grow forever, thicker around the middle than a full sized dragon. _I haven't been here before_, said Onyxia. _There aren't many corners of Azeroth left that are unknown to me, but I have not been here before._

At last, the steep slope began to curve out and end. As Onyxia reached the top, she saw a cave open up, snug among the roots of the tree. As she approached, out stepped a draenei in a silver and blue tabard.

_Damnation_, said Lesliora as the draenei spotted them.

"Lesli." The draenei approached. "I thought you were in Stormwind?"

"Tovyet." Lesliora's mouth opened without Onyxia meaning for it to. "I was waylaid. Sent here on a private mission, as a matter of fact."

Lesliora went quiet. Onyxia took control. "I'm on a mission from the Bronzes," she said, before the draenei could open her mouth. "A private mission, I'm afraid. And what are you doing here?"

"I just arrived here with John and the others." Tovyet frowned at them. Her silken black hair ran down her back in a long plait. "We had a mission of our own, but we... ran into some trouble along the way. I was just about to get some supplies from the quartermaster, do you want to come?"

"Are they inside?" said Onyxia. _Did you hear that?_ said Onyxia. _John. Is that your John?_

_It must be_, said Lesliora.

"Yes." Tovyet crossed her arms. "It's best not to interrupt right now — "

"It may concern my mission, then." Onyxia smoothly stepped past her. "_Trouble along the way_," she said to Lesliora. _That doesn't sound good._

_Hopefully it is trouble that falls in your favour_, said Lesliora. _We were in the middle of a campaign in the Firelands when John had to leave. I thought it was strange a group of our best fighters abruptly abandoned us. There was little explanation._

Grass turned to dirt under their feet, and soon Lesliora was stepping on mushrooms and navigating thick roots that obscured their path. The light dimmed and the mushrooms grew bigger; first a foot tall, and then two. Down they went, deep down underground, with only the glow on mushroom caps to guide her way. Eventually the tunnel levelled out, and a dim light shone ahead. Voices drifted their way, obscure and hard to catch.

Lesliora and Onyxia stopped at a doorway. Onyxia tensed.

A mixed group stood beyond. A draenei woman in thick armour, her skin the colour of sapphires and her hair pale as bone. _T'Vaia_, said Lesliora. A human woman of about thirty, dressed to the nines in clothing that made her look as if she was about to be coronated. _Penevorah_. A night elf covered in muck, who'd turned a scowl on Lesliora the moment she entered. _Orrvin. Hates me_. A dark skinned, dark-eyed human with a kaliri on his shoulder. _John. And his bird, Tilly._

And another woman, one Lesliora didn't recognise; a redheaded, pale woman with a staff on her back, speaking to John. As Lesliora and Onyxia entered, her voice died from her lips and she turned to give Lesliora a wary look. "One of yours, I hope?"

Heads turned.

"What are you doing here?" Orrvin pulled a leather mask from his mouth to speak. "Lesliora, if you had a message from the others you should have waited outside."

Onyxia ignored him and turned to the redheaded stranger. "Who are you?"

John and Orrvin scowled. Penevorah frowned. T'Vaia pursed her lips and fingered one of her horns.

Orrvin's lip curled. "This is Lady Corastrasza. Treat her with respect."

"My apologies." Lesliora shoved Onyxia aside, and bowed to the Red. "Lady Corastrasza, I was sent on a mission by one of the Bronze Dragonflight. They said it was a matter of deep importance, but if you are busy..." _I hope you have a plan,_ she said to Onyxia.

"No." Corastrasza raised a hand. "If you were sent by the Bronze Dragonflight, then no doubt your mission involves John's." She lowered her hand. "What is your name? Lesliora, was it?"

"Yes." Lesliora bowed again for good measure. John huffed. "I was sent to get a report on a…" she faltered. Onyxia took over. "On a highly sensitive subject that I was instructed to keep as discreet as possible."

_If I get caught_, Lesliora said, _I will personally hunt you and pull your wings from your body like a fly._

"Did her accent just change mid-sentence?" muttered the draenei.

"I have already been alerted to what happened before John arrived," said Corastrasza."But it stands to reason that from the Bronze Dragonflight's perspective, they may not know of it yet. Time travel is complicated, after all." Corastrasza turned to John. "Tell her what happened."

"How much did the Bronze Dragonflight tell you?" John eyed her. "I didn't even know they'd brought you into this..."

"Chromie sent me," said Onyxia. "This business concerns an egg the Bronzes sent here."

"Ah," said Corastrasza. Everyone relaxed. "I see. How much do you know?"

"Of a dragon named Nyxondra, now dead," said Onyxia. "And an egg of hers, sent through a secret agent. It is supposed to arrive here today. There was another egg, a decoy — "

"A decoy?!" said John. "There was a decoy?"

"Ah," said Corastrasza. "I see Lirastrasza did not tell _you_ everything, John. Yes, there was a decoy. Two eggs. Both were to be brought here by different routes. Which one you had, I cannot say. Go on, Lesliora."

"Chromie of the Bronze Dragonflight sent me here to ensure the egg had reached its destination," said Lesliora. "Where is it?"

Onyxia felt her claws, all the way in Icecrown Citadel, clench in fear.

"Neither of them have arrived, Lesliora," said Corastrasza. "But we have learned it is all as it is meant to be."

"Deathwing has my egg," said John. "It could be anywhere."

Onyxia gasped.

"A Black dragonspawn came on board the ship disguised as Leonardo Withering," said Penevorah, her voice thick in the accent of Stormwind nobility. "He seized the egg and dropped overboard with it. He may have drowned and the egg may be at the bottom of the ocean."

_Dragonspawn_? said Onyxia. _That might be Sam…_

"Or he swam away as a naga," said Corastrasza. "Dragonkin can take any form they choose, even the dragonspawn. In any case, I would say the egg is lost, but we have received word that this would happen." Corastrasza looked to Lesliora. "I'm guessing the Bronze Flight don't know from your perspective yet, however. Time travel is complicated. Either way, when you tell them, they will go back in time and tell us. They told us neither the decoy nor the Black Prince would reach their intended destination, and yet, both will go where they are supposed to go. So we must assume Deathwing lost the egg." Corastrasza frowned. "Do you know where the egg is supposed to go, Lesliora?"

"They did not tell me any such thing, no," said Lesliora. "All I know, I have told you. So you do not know?"

"No," Corastrasza. "But the Bronze Flight will find out."

"Where was the ship when the dragonspawn went overboard?" said Onyxia.

"We hadn't yet reached the Eastern Kingdoms," said John.

_I would have seen Sam by now if she was in Northrend,_ said Bolvar. _I have scouts all over the continent. I'm guessing it is Sam who imitated Leo — Deathwing wouldn't have sent a single person to infiltrate the ship, so it must be Sam._

"What are you going to do now?" said Onyxia.

"We wait, and we see," said Corastrasza. "The Bronzes informed us of a... kind of paradox. They said this had to be allowed to happen. If the eggs were intercepted, the fabric of the universe would collapse."

_Oh dear_, said Onyxia. _Hora must have been tampering again._

_Hora_? said Bolvar. _Who's — ah, Horan Bronzewing, the Bronze from Stormwind. I did wonder about him..._

_Her_, said Onyxia. _She's a woman._

_I see._

"Did the Bronzes tell you why this would happen?" said Onyxia.

"No," said Corastrasza. "Chromie said she would tell the Dragonqueen when the time is right. Nozdormu is already preparing; I believe he has begun to advise the Dragonqueen on necessary strategies. Bronzes do not speak lightly."

_This is interesting_, said Onyxia. _I thought Hora said she was done with tampering, but now Nozdormu is involved?_

_She said Chromie, not Hora,_ said Lesliora.

_The two are the one and same_, said Onyxia. _Hora is merely a younger version of Chromie_.

Nothing more could be gleaned from Corastrasza or the others. Lesliora left them abruptly, and marched back down the hill, leaving Onyxia to chew on her thoughts. She slipped away from Lesliora's mind.

In Icecrown, she opened her eyes to find herself curled up on the ground, Eduard still walking all over her back and touching her wings. "We'll need to check the Eastern Kingdoms for Samia." She watched Bolvar pace in front of her as she spoke. "She may have washed up in Quel'thalas or Tirisfal. It is quite a journey, but she's a dragonsworn…"

"Or she may have drowned," said Bolvar. "It depends on whether or not the Bronzes told the truth."

"I believe they did," said Onyxia. "It's…" She stretched her tail. "It's starting to make sense. The fabric of the universe is in danger if the eggs are tampered with too much, and the Bronzes are hiding the reason why."

"It must be a paradox," said Fordragon. "You heard what Corastrasza said. And what else could break reality than a paradox?"

"Or a paradox that was prevented from happening?" Onyxia rubbed her chin. "Breaking a paradox would be just as dangerous as making one occur. At least, one would think so."

"Indeed." Fordragon stopped. He touched his head, and sighed.

"Are you alright?" said Onyxia.

"Old Gods," he said. "What else? I feel so tired."

"You must hold on."

"I know. I'm just… tired."

Onyxia flicked out a tongue.

A sensation of pins and needles crawled up one wing.

"Can you feel that?" said Eduard.

"Yes," said Onyxia.

"Move it for me."

Onyxia twitched her wing. "That's all I can do for now."

"Hmm."

"We need to find Samantha," said Fordragon. "One egg is still missing, but at least the other is accounted for, and it seems that the Bronzes may be clearing the way for us to act. If she's not in Northrend, she may have watched up in the Eastern Kingdoms. We can start by combing Lordaeron. It'll give you a chance to practice possessing some Scourge."

"I am so tired of posession."

"You're telling me. Eduard, how long will it take for you to finish with her wings?"

"A few hours."

"It'll take much longer than that to find Sam. We had better start."

-o-O-o-

Samia rose, gasping and coughing.

Wet sand encrusted her hands and her clothing, digging underneath her fingernails. As air returned, the coloured splotches in her vision faded and all sound was replaced by a distant, fuzzy static. Her wet clothing suffocated her skin.

The whelpling in front of her clawed open the stomach of the Scarlet Crusader and set about consuming his entrails. Blood flecked its jaw.

Samia rounded the corpse to the whelp's other side, stumbling as she did. Its nostrils flared as it growled at her. She settled on her knees.

"It's alright," she said, in Draconic. "I won't hurt you."

Something bumped her thigh. She looked down to see a tiny elemental watching the two of them. As she reached out to touch it, it crumbled into sand.

"That's…" she watched the small pile of sand. It didn't move again. "… Interesting."

Samia looked at the dragon. She reached for it.

In a flash the dragon's jaws closed around her fingers. She yelped, trying to yank them away but only bringing the whelpling closer to her. She sucked in her breath, clenched her jaw, and remained still. The whelpling's jaws tightened.

When she did not struggle, the whelpling released her and crawled back to the corpse.

"That was dumb," she squeaked.

Samia looked back at her hands. Blood ran down her palm in rivulets. She'd been bitten by countless whelplings over the years with Sabel in Blade's Edge. She'd forgotten how much it hurt.

Shivering, she took off her shirt with one hand. She pulled weakly at a sleeve until it gave way. She bound her injured hand tightly and pulled the ruined shirt back onto her body.

She stood up and rounded the corpse, again, to look at the whelpling's face. It watched her as it ate with narrow, slitted eyes. A boy. A girl would have rounder, larger eyes.

"I'm sorry," said Samia. "I shouldn't have touched you without your permission. Especially when you're eating."

The whelpling's feast slowed. He licked his chops. He sat on his haunches on the crusader's mangled chest and watched her. His nostrils flared again and he inhaled deeply, taking in her scent. Samia inhaled, too, but the Dragonbane on the boat had ruined her sense of smell and she smelled nothing.

A faint breeze touched Samia's wet back. She shivered.

"My name is Samia," she said. "I am a dragonspawn. I'll be looking after you."

It began to rain. Moisture dripped down the whelpling's snout as he watched her from the side of his face.

Right. No eye contact. Samia lowered her eyes.

"Samia," she said. "As in, Samia Inkling. I'm your guardian. Your protector. Although it seems you can protect yourself just fine, yes?"

He was only a whelpling. He wouldn't understand her. He had to learn language, first. But she knew whelplings; they learned quickly. Very quickly. Jet had rarely spoken, but when he did, his words were as fluent as any adult's.

"I used to take care of whelps in Outland," she said. "Their eggs couldn't be exposed to fire out there, it made them born small. Like you. The eggs grow when exposed to heat. I don't know how it happens, eggshells of other species don't grow like that, the mass has to come from somewhere. I think Sabel knows, but he never told me. Shit. I'm rambling. I sound like him sometimes, I guess."

The whelpling cocked its head.

"Sabel — Sabellian. He's either your grandfather or your future mentor. Depending on what you are. But you just summoned a tiny elemental... maybe you're the pure whelpling. Or maybe you're just his grandkid. I think the decoy has great power in his own right."

The whelpling lowered his eyes.

"I suppose I should give you a name, shouldn't I?" How did naming traditions work in the Black Dragonflight? "I think Sabel said that dragons tended to name themselves when they grew older, but I can't just call you 'the whelpling'."

She ran her good hand through her hair. Her other hand throbbed. Her makeshift bandage was soaked with rain already, and she was so cold.

"Well," she said. "The others can just put up with it. Sabel would understand, and he's the only one who matters. How about Melanian? Melania was the name of..." One of Sabel's mates, or his mother? "... his mother, that's right. She died when he was a drake. He can barely remember her. Deathwing killed her."

Maybe calling him Melanian wasn't such a good idea.

But the whelp was staring up at her forehead as he listened, swaying slightly as if sleepy, and Samia felt too tired to bother coming up with any alternative names. "Melanian it is. How do you feel about that?"

The whelpling didn't answer, continuing to watch her with fascination. His eyelids drooped slightly.

"Right." Her eyes fluttered closed. "I think — I think I'll ask the spirits. Maybe they know what you are, which egg you are. Do you want to watch?"

Melanian yawned.

Samia collapsed onto her rump. She weakly attempted to cross her legs under her, then gave up and flopped onto her back. She closed her eyes and felt the rain against her face.

The spirits had been so restless lately. Maybe they wouldn't hear her. They hadn't often before. She was far from a skilled shaman. Sabel's area of expertise had been the elements, not the dead. But maybe the Old Gods didn't touch the dead.

Maybe.

With her exhaustion, and the steady drum of rain, it was surprisingly easy to fall into a trance. The sound of Melanian's snuffling seemed far away, and the rain on her face did not bother her, nor did the cold, so much a part of her now, jolt her out of her reverie. Instead she heard whispering at the edges of her hearing, felt the gentle currents of spirits around her.

There were so many more than she expected. Even as she opened her eyes and sat up, she saw them. A couple of spectres patrolling the water's edge, a dead fisherman drawing a ghostly boat onto the sand, a child building a castle. They didn't see her. They didn't even seem to sense Melanian's presence.

She turned her head, and almost jumped out of her skin.

Only six feet away stood a man with a ruined face, staring straight at her. His head looked like it had caved into his skull. "Please," he groaned, and it sickened Samia to realise his voice was familiar. "Please, please help me — "

"Leave her alone." Another man stepped in, with long dark hair and thick Northrend robes. Serinar! What was he doing here? "Begone. _Go_. You don't belong here."

"Please — "

"_I said go!_"

The first spirit cringed away, crying, and faded into nothing. Serinar turned to look at Samia.

"What are you doing here?" said Samia. "How did you find me?"

"Hmm," said Serinar. "And I half expected for you to be dead yourself, and yet you were not there to greet me. Perhaps Sabellian likes you for a reason, then."

"You're dead?"

"No, I spontaneously decided to teleport here and just happened to know exactly where you are." Serinar rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm dead, fool."

"Oh." Shit. Samia scratched her hairline. "Mostly the spirits don't notice me."

"I'm thousands of years old, I have more power than they do," said Serinar. "That human that seems to be haunting you, however, is particularly stubborn. He seems to sense what you are. I would not be surprised if he appeared again."

"I feel like I've met him before."

"I wouldn't know. Is there something you want before I go? I cannot stay long."

"The boy." Samia gestured to the whelp. "Can you tell me what he is?"

"Whether he's pure or not? Hard to tell," said Serinar. "I'm dead, not omniscient, and I don't have a sense of smell anymore. I'm a ghost, not a spirit, there's a difference. The other has hatched, though. I can sense it, far away, but not too far away from you. Somewhere in — Hillsbrad? Maybe? Western Plaguelands, perhaps. Around that area. Have a look, you're not far. By the way, Sabellian told me to greet you for him if I saw you."

"Fuck, are the others alright?" said Samia. "How did you die? What's been happening?" Then, "Shit, is Sabel dead?"

"I don't really remember," said Serinar. "I think I was captured. Maybe. There was a Red dragon. I think Deathwing was there, too. Maybe it was Deathwing. It's looking bad, but when has it not? I suppose you'll all die, now." Then his shoulders slumped. "Thousands of years, all gone." He shook his head. "Sabellian is not dead. I contacted him. He knew I'd stick around. He's captured."

"Captured? Sabel? I didn't think such a thing was possible."

"He let Deathwing capture him as a distraction," said Serinar. "Deathwing wanted him, and wanted Nalice. Nalice is more valuable, so Sabellian sacrificed himself. I don't know what happened to Onyxia. I suppose that makes her our only hope, since I don't see you coming to anything. But perhaps…" Serinar tilted his head. "Sabellian instructed Nalice to find the child. Perhaps you two will meet. Go. Western Plaguelands, Hillsbrad. Somewhere around the mountains there. I feel him. I feel your boy, too, there's something wrong with him. I don't know what. He's tired. Too tired. He's exhausted, he shouldn't be. I don't know where Nalice is. If you see Nalice, do something for me."

"What's wrong with the whelp?" Samia had to strain to hear him. His voice was fading away. "And what do you want me to say to Nalice?"

"Tell her that I love her, that I mean it, and to stop being stubborn and pretending it's weakness," said Serinar. "In the end, pride and strength didn't matter, didn't it? Pride is not strength after all. So what is?" Serinar paused. "I'm fading. No. I don't want to, not yet, where's Sabellian? I need him to keep me here. Too many years, too many years gone, I need more time, I'm not ready, it's too dark. Why is it so dark?"

He faded from sight, leaving Samia alone with the other ghosts. She let them fade from her senses, too.

She closed her eyes.

Poor Serinar. And the others, all scattered to the winds.

She let out a long sigh.

Now that she was on earth again, gravity bore down on her and made her feel heavy. Every muscle of her body ached. When she opened her eyes again and looked down on herself, she saw that her clothing was looser on her body than she remembered. She hadn't eaten well since Stormwind. When she touched her middle, she felt her ribs protrude.

It felt like a lifetime ago that a gronn had crushed them and Sabel had saved her life.

She turned to Melanian. He lay curled up on top of the dead crusader, eyelids drooping.

What was wrong with him? Was it her swim through the ocean?

_He's tired. Too tired._

Whatever it was, it had to wait.

"I'm going to have to scavenge something." She pulled herself to her feet. Melanian watched her. "I'm so sick of fish. I never want to eat fish again. There must be a settlement nearby that I can raid." Providing reeking of salt and seaweed didn't give her stealthed form away. "Even the Forsaken have to feed the living occasionally, right?"

The rain thickened.

Samia sighed.

It was going to be a long journey to Hillsbrad.


	63. Lost and Found

_**A/N: **Many thanks for the reviews! It's great to see people are still reading._

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

The frigid, Northrend air rushed past Lirastrasza as she flew. The stars blinked above, unmoving even as the trees blurred beneath her.

The wind changed.

She smelled Black dragon, smelled metal and death. And was that a hint of Nalice's scent?

The sky pulsed red.

Her body recognised the signs before she did. Lirastrasza wheeled downwards, but there were no clearings in the trees below. Gritting her teeth, she skimmed as low as she dared and transformed mid-air.

Her human form shot forward like a canonball even as she curled her limbs inward, chin to her chest, battered by branches that tore at her armour. Narrowly missing the trunk of a tree, Lirastrasza was sent spinning and rolling into snow, crashing against ice and rock.

Eventually she slowed. She sat up. The world swam, leaving her retching until the dizziness passed. She stayed still and counted her limbs. Her joints were fine, her strong dragon bones had come through. Lira grit her teeth; one arm blazed with pain, and as she looked at it she saw gash had ripped open her skin from elbow to shoulder. If her armour hadn't been there to take the brunt of it, it would have torn her down to the bone. Lira closed up the wound with a healing spell, feeling its sleepy pulse wash over her and numb the pain.

Everything else was alright, if sore. Curling up tight and rolling across the ground had saved her life and limbs from the crash landing.

Distracted by her wounds, she hadn't noticed red light illuminate the snow all around her. She looked up.

A fresh wave of metal and fire reached her olifactory senses. Deathwing's gargantuan figure flew above her and roared. Far away she could hear burning, feel the resonant heat build up.

Deathwing roared again even as he stopped to hover. Lirastrasza pressed her sore, battered body to a tree trunk as Deathwing looked around, sniffing the air. His eyes probed the canopy that obscured her. She hunched low, barely daring to breathe.

And then he left, flying due east, his form faster than even Alexstrasza could be. Not long afterwards Lira saw some of her own Red drakes wheeling cautiously after him, as if trying to track him as far as they dared.

Huh. What were they doing there? She hadn't told them to do that. And what was Deathwing doing so close to Wyrmrest Temple?

Lirastrasza heard crackling and saw flames flicker through the trees. Best to get out while she still could.

She stood up and tested her legs. One ankle hurt, but only a little, and both legs ached. Her armour had been dented and torn near to shreds by her crash landing, but the cold air numbed the pain. A quick heal, and then she had to continue.

She walked west; opposite the sound of sizzling, melting snow, away from the smoke.

It took her half an hour of trudging through knee-deep snow before she found a clearing from which she could take off. Minutes later the trees thinned out and the Borean Tundra stretched beneath her. A thick path of burned trees and steaming earth followed Deathwing's wake. The wind wafted away the smoke.

The burning smell only grew stronger.

She saw the camp by Sholazar was gone long before she reached it hours later. Where the tents had once been was only a column of smoke and charred earth that cracked as she landed. She looked around. There was nothing left except burned ground; the fire had been so hot no corpses had been left behind. Soot smeared against her boots. How many drakes had died in this? What had happened to Serinar?

It didn't matter. Better the incompetent died sooner than late.

Lira felt something against her foot.

A green circlet lay on the ground. As she nudged it with her toes, she saw it was a saronite collar. Human sized.

It was still closed.

"Interesting," she said.

A female drake crashed to the ground behind her, staggering as she shifted into human form, red hair cascading down her back. Not far behind her, Lira saw Kaz hurtling towards them through the sky. "Lirastrasza! Deathwing — " The female drake flapped her hands. " — happened. Serinar is dead. Sabellian was taken prisoner, I saw it. I sent a mortal to report to the Dragonqueen as soon as it happened. Deathwing's gone, he's following Nalice, there's nothing we can do."

Kaz came in to land, wheezing and panting. He talked even as he shifted into human form. "Alexstrasza got the message." He gasped for air, bending over to lean on his knees. "I came as fast as I could. Almost ran straight into Deathwing. It's only a matter of time until Deathwing gets to Nalice."

"We won't beat him to her," said the female drake. "I followed him until I saw you, Lira. Nothing can save her now, not even us, he's too fast. Not even the Dragonqueen can fly as fast as him, he will have left our drakes behind by now. We don't have anyone to intercept Deathwing and Nalice and even if we did, we can't send a message in time. Not even the mortals are that fast."

"Our orders have changed." Kazastrasz's breathing finally steadied as he straightened up. "Nalice is beyond our reach, there's nothing we can do about her. We have to focus instead on the Twilight presence in Sholazar. We have to clear them out."

"Why?" Lira turned her head to take in the leaves skimming the top of the basin.

"Nozdormu," said Kaz. "He said so."

Lira and the other drake blinked to look at Kaz.

"He's getting involved now, is he?" Lira tilted her head. "Interesting. What else has he said?"

"Not much," said Kaz. "There's supposed to be some message Chromie has to deliver to the Dragonqueen later, some kind of explanation. Or _something_, it's vague."

"My mother mentioned it to me, yes," said Lira. "It's about the eggs."

"But we have to prepare for Chromie's arrival," said Kaz. "Clearing out the Twilights is part of that."

"What of the Lich King?" Lira turned towards Icecrown. "What did Nozdormu have to say about him?"

"Nothing," said Kaz. "But even if he did, we can't fight the Lich King. Not now. We don't have the resources to lay a siege and the Twilights and Deathwing are far more pressing."

Damn it. Screw the Twilights, the Obsidian Dawn was more important, why didn't her mother see that? Lira's lip curled. "So Serinar is dead, Sabellian is captured, and Nalice is fleeing Deathwing. What of Onyxia?"

"Nobody knows where she is," said Kaz. "But I think it's safe to say the Obsidian Dawn is broken."

"The Obsidian Dawn isn't over as long as Onyxia persists," said Lira. "She hasn't been much of a threat, but she is far too stubborn for us to underestimate. The only thing worse than a powerful enemy is one that doesn't give up."

"We have the Twilights to worry about," said Kaz.

Lira gazed back towards Icecrown. On a clear day, one could see the citadel and Dalaran from here, but this early in the morning it was too dark. As the smoke caused by Deathwing's flight began to fade, the stars reluctantly re-emerged.

"As you wish," said Lira. "I wouldn't mind finding Sabellian and wringing his neck — perhaps we'll get lucky."

-o-O-o-

Over the northern ocean between Quel'thalas and the Howling Fjord a six-thousand-year-old dragon hurtled through the air with all the speed her tired wings would allow, a crippled whelplling clutched to her chest. Inside the back of her head, Wrathion felt the wind against Nalice's scales, the heaviness of her wings, and the distant desperation that came with the knowledge that land might be too far away to save her. There, she could be taken alive. Above the water, if Deathwing caught her, there would be nothing for her but death.

Deathwing was gaining, even if she couldn't see him yet. Deathwing, with his energy without limit, drugged out of his mind by the song of the Old Gods, would take only an hour to finish crossing Northrend and not much longer before he had Nalice in his sights. The fastest of the Red drakes lost sight of him long ago.

Sabellian had bought Nalice time with his surrender, but it wouldn't be enough.

If Deathwing killed her, it was one less problem for Wrathion to deal with. If Deathwing killed her, Wrathion could focus on other things. If Deathwing killed her, there would be no more breeding females left.

None.

Wasn't that what Wrathion wanted? An end to his tainted race? The Old Gods couldn't be killed; they were part of Azeroth, and always would be. The only way to defeat them was through the elimination of the Black Dragonflight and Deathwing.

It was for their own good.

Really.

But there was one person who might be able to save her. Or, at least, buy her enough time to die by Wrathion's hands instead.

In Sholazar, Wrathion slipped behind the eyes of a cultist and looked around its camp. Sabellian lurked behind a rickety table swollen with moisture, leaning against it with his head down and his eyes closed. Several beakers lay scattered on the surface, half of them broken. Jettion sat on the table like a marmot, flicking his tail.

Wrathion hesitated.

He could read mortal minds, could he control mortal bodies? Could he slip tendrils of his consciousness into their arms and fingers, their legs and feet? He slipped inside like a hand in a glove and stretched. When he made the cultist's fingers twitch, they obeyed.

He felt her panic spike. He soothed her, gently, and pulled the darkness around her.

Fordragon could read the minds of and possess the dead. It seemed that Wrathion was his living equivalent.

Sabellian picked up a vial, but it slipped from his fingers and broke on the table.

He sighed. "What? So I break things. Stop staring at me."

"I should tell you," said Wrathion. A few Twilight cultists turned to blink at him. Wrathion said, "I am not your guard. I am merely possessing her body."

"Oh dear," said Sabellian. "Fordragon? You could be more subtle. I thought you could only possess the dead."

"I am not Fordragon."

One of the Twilight cultists looked to another. "Should we fetch Seldarria?"

"No doubt she already knows I'm here." Wrathion glanced at the cultist for only a moment. "My name is Wrathion. When you and the Obsidian Dawn and Deathwing are dead, Sabellian, I will be the last of our kind. I am the Black Prince."

Sabellian blinked at him. "You are Nyxondra's son."

"Yes." Wrathion clasped the female's hands.

"How did you possess her?" said Sabellian. "I've never known any of our kind to have such power."

"I have more power than you can imagine at my disposal. I suspect some of it is natural. I am inbred, after all." Wrathion rolled his shoulders. "I heard the Reds talking of it when I was inside my shell. I can see into the minds of almost all who walk this earth. All but a few, if we ignore the entire Bronze Dragonflight. And one of those invisible minds is yours. Which is why I speak to you through this vessel and not with telepathy."

Sabellian frowned. "You are well-spoken for a whelpling."

"My connection to the earth allows me to hear all those who walk on it, and it was their minds who unwittingly taught me everything I know." Wrathion smirked. "And I know a lot."

"I… see." Sabellian peered at him. "We've been looking for you. We need your help."

"You will not get it."

Sabellian blinked. "What?"

"You are going to die," said Wrathion. "All of you. The Black Dragonflight is a curse on this world."

"What? No!" Sabellian waved a hand. "I'm part of the Obsidian Dawn, we're fighting _against_ Deathwing, not with him."

"I know, and I don't care," said Wrathion. "This world is done with the Black Dragonflight, done with all the Flights. The time of immortals has long passed, and the mortals have risen to take your place. You're dying out. I aim to help the process along."

Sabellian blinked. His shoulders sagged. Jettion let out an irritated puff of air. "Just our luck. Nothing ever goes our way." He massaged the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. "I was supposed to teach you, you know. That was why the Twilights had me brought here, wasn't it?"

"No," said Wrathion. "The Twilights decided to drop their pursuit of me."

Sabellian blinked. Lowered his arm. "Really?"

"Yes," said Wrathion. "The Old Gods discovered the fabric of the universe would collapse if they captured me. My capture would prevent a paradox from occuring, a paradox which must occur. I must be allowed to do as I will."

Sabellian shifted until he was sitting on the table. "Interesting."

"But I will show you a bit of mercy."

"Oh. Lucky us."

"Your daughter is speeding over the north sea as we speak," said Wrathion. "Deathwing is in pursuit. If you do not do something, she will die."

"What can I do from here, boy?" Sabellian looked at him.

"You are a shaman," said Wrathion. "Use the elements of the air to slow him down and to speed her up."

"From here?"

"If anyone can do it, you can. You were supposed to teach me, as you pointed out."

"Can't you do it yourself, then? You're the Black Prince."

"Of course not." Wrathion narrowed his eyes.

"Ah, I see," said Sabellian. "That's your problem, isn't it? You're pure, but you're untrained. Come to me, then. Come to Sholazar. You need me to reach your full potential. You have great power. Don't you want more? People like you tend to. You're scared, Wrathion, I can tell."

"Oh for the love of — " Wrathion glared. "Don't you want to save your brat or not?"

"All I can do is pray." Sabellian bowed his head. "Pray to the spirits, the elementals. They can slow Deathwing down, speed Nalice up — as you pointed out. But in the end, Wrathion, he'll still catch up to her."

"How depressing."

"If you want us all dead, why protect her?" Sabellian looked up again.

"I don't want to give Deathwing the satisfaction," said Wrathion. "If anyone is going to kill her, it will be me."

"Well, I am certainly not complaining," said Sabellian. "You are a silly young whelpling, but come to me, set me free, and I'll teach you everything you want, everything you need."

"We're standing right here," said a nearby cultist.

"Who cares?" Sabellian glared at the cultist. "The Old Gods are always listening anyway." He looked back to Wrathion. "You have great power at your disposal. I do, too."

"I don't want to be a shaman."

"Then what do you want?"

"To be free of the Obsidian Dawn, of Deathwing, of the Reds."

"Is it truly freedom if you're always hiding?"

Wrathion paused.

"Trust me, boy," said Sabellian. "I know. I've been hunted all my life. True, there have been times when I have been tolerated, even accepted. Deathwing had many uses for me and at times I was more important to him alive than dead, but our kind have wanted me killed all my life. I'm used to this."

"Why do they want you dead?"

"Because I'm a cripple." Sabellian touched his right leg. "My leg is always breaking. Supposedly, that makes me weak. And yet, I've outlived them all. With Serinar dead and Onyxia technically dead, I'm probably the oldest Black dragon alive other than Deathwing."

Wrathion tilted his head. "Did the Old Gods told them to hunt you?"

"Probably." Sabellian shrugged. "The Old Gods turn people against each other. Why do you think Deathwing's fighting the world? Because it's _smart_? No, the Old Gods know he'll lose, and when he does, he'll have taken down many of their enemies." Sabellian pressed his palm to his forehead. "That's why we need you to take the Heart of Earth when he dies, so that there's a pure Black Aspect, one that even they can't touch. Without you, this world will eat itself from the inside out."

Wrathion hesitated.

"Come to me," said Sabel. "Help me, set me free. I will teach you."

"What do you know about being an Aspect?" Wrathion scoffed.

"Nothing." Sabel looked up at him. "But I can teach you about the elements, the spirits, and how to hide. And best of all, I can teach you to survive."

Wrathion paused.

Slowly, he shook his head. "I will not lie, Sabellian. I genuinely appreciate the offer. But I have to say no. You cannot be allowed to live any more than the rest. You are kind, but in the end, you are just as corrupt as they are."

"Without you, there is nothing left to fight for." Sabellian closed his eyes. "But perhaps you'll change your mind soon enough. Time is running out for you, boy."

Wrathion's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Nalice is looking for you." Sabellian smirked. "And Deathwing is right behind her."

-o-O-o-

It was difficult to possess the dead so far from Northrend, Onyxia discovered; while possessing Lesliora or Eduard was simple, the mindless Scourge could not hold onto Onyxia the way she held on to them. At least Eduard was simple to possess. After he repaired Onyxia's wings, Bolvar had him teleport to Undercity and watch the Ruins of Lordaeron.

_If Samia made it to the Eastern Kingdoms, it's only a matter of time until we find her_, said Onyxia. _She's bound to wind up in the Undercity._

_I have not seen her, lady,_ said Eduard.

_Could we get Lesliora to watch Menethil Harbour?_ said Onyxia. _I don't think Samia will risk a major city after kidnapping Saya._

_Lesliora has a life of her own, she does not exist to do my bidding_, came Bolvar's exhausted thoughts. _She's on her way to Wyrmrest Temple with her guild._

_I have not seen Samia at Vengeance Landing either_, said the Ambassador.

_Keep an eye out_, said Bolvar.

But the time since Serinar's death ticked on, and Bolvar continued to bounce through the minds and eyes of the Scourge, searching for a lone woman and an egg.

There was no sleep for any of them, even if they needed it. Fed up of Undercity, Eduard and Onyxia patrolled Brill, watching for suspicious, dark-haired visitors that might mysteriously have a pulse. Some days Onyxia wondered if Samia had come and gone already, unnoticed, but the Ambassador continued to watch the zeppelins coming into Vengeance Landing and nobody came through with a Blackwhelp.

Onyxia was tired, but that was nothing compared to Bolvar's exhaustion.

She felt his presence in the back of Eduard's mind. Eduard himself had retreated deep inside for a rest while Onyxia used his body to make tentative conversation with the zeppelin guards that day, but she could still feel Bolvar check undead after undead after undead. He'd stationed some Scourge closer to the roads in case Samia risked them, but Forsaken patrols quickly dispatched of all of them. Still, Bolvar barely seemed to notice, his pool of spies shrinking by the day as he risked their lives again and again to explore every nook and cranny of Tirisfal Glades.

And still Samia did not turn up.

_The Glades are enormous_, said Bolvar. _And we are only a few. I cannot possess more than one undead at a time and can only order around so many at a time, and the Scourge have poor memories._

_What if she washed up in Quel'thalas?_ said Onyxia.

_Then she would have taken the Orb of Translocation to Undercity, lady, and we would have caught her, _said Eduard, stirring.

_Still nothing in Vengeance Landing_, said the Ambassador.

_Could she have slipped past into Silverpine?_ said Eduard.

_It's been long enough she may have by now_, was Bolvar's quiet answer. _It takes more of my energy the further south we go. I don't want to spread ourselves out further, as it will make it easier for her to slip past us, but we may have to._

_Could I go?_ said Onyxia. _I could search the way you have been doing._

_You need more power than you have at your diposal_, said Bolvar. _It is difficult enough for me to possess the Scourge this far, you won't manage it._

_I am a ten thousand year old dragon_, said Onyxia.

_Who died_, said Bolvar.

_And came back,_ said Onyxia.

There was silence.

_My lord?_ Eduard sounded worried. _Are you still there?_

_Please_, came Bolvar's weak voice. _Be quiet._

Onyxia opened her eyes in the main chamber in the Icecrown hidden passages. Her body felt as if it had grown stiff from neglect. As she stretched, she saw Bolvar Fordragon in the chair opposite her, on the other side of the chamber. She rose and approached him.

It looked as if he was sleeping.

She wondered if all the lines on his face were due to the charring ruin the Red Dragonflight had gifted him with, or if his body still had enough life in it to age ten years in the few he'd been the Lich King for.

"Fordragon," she said.

He didn't move. A moment later, his eyes screwed up and he flinched. He let out a low hiss. Relaxed. Flinched and hissed again. She remembered the motions from their time in Stormwind, when he'd been fending off the Old God whispers even then.

"Bolvar," she said. "Are they giving you trouble?"

_They always do,_ he said in her head. His eyes flickered open, yellow instead of green, and then closed again.

"Are you ever able to sleep?" she shifted into her human form and drew a chair so that she might sit closer to him. She leaned on her elbows, watching him intently. His head rolled onto one shoulder, before he jerked in his chair.

_I do not need sleep_, he said.

"But do you ever?"

Pause. _No. I did once. There were nightmares_.

She frowned. "You need rest."

_The Old Gods are stronger when I do not fight them_, he said. I_ must not sleep._

"There must be a way I can offset that."

_We must find her._

"Let me look," she said. "Get some rest. Even if you don't sleep, give yourself an hour or two and meditate." She sat up, stretching her stiff back. "I used to meditate at night, sometimes, in Stormwind. It felt just as good as a sleep when the nights were long and dull and dark. It will give you strength against the Old Gods."

_You will need a portion of my power to search as I do_, said Bolvar. _You need much of it to be able to control an avatar on the Eastern Kingdoms to begin with. Channeling you into Lesliora's body was... difficult._

And yet, he'd still done it.

"Just rest," she said. "You need to."

Bolvar opened his eyes for a moment. Looked at her. Closed his eyes again.

She tingled, suddenly, as if a gentle current passed through her.

_There,_ he said. _It should be easier for you, now. I... will rest._ She heard him sigh. _Alert me if you find anything._

"I will," she said softly. "Sleep well."

He snorted, but the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes again was a soft smile on his face.

_Eduard_. Onyxia returned to her chair.

_Yes, Lady?_

_Change of plans_, she said. _We'll comb from the Hillsbrad-Silverpine border and make our way up north to catch her. Bolvar transferred some power to me to enable me to search the same way he has. Can you meet me there?_

_I can teleport, Lady, but not just anywhere_, said Eduard. _I will have to catch a bat to the Sludge Fields._

_The Sludge Fields?_

_I heard the Forsaken talk about it_, said Eduard. _It's a settlement in western Hillsbrad. I'll make my way there and join you, but it may take some time._

_I will have to begin alone then,_ said Onyxia.

The last time she'd been in Silverpine, it had been full of the living. Today, Silverpine was as dead as Tirisfal. The tall pines were racked with claw marks well up to twelve feet off the ground, and the farmsteads she could remember from Katrana Prestor's brief childhood had all tumbled down and surrendered to the weeds. Old crops spilled from their bounds in farms and fled deep into the woods, leaving fences breaking and trodden down in their wake. In the long years since Onyxia had last been in Silverpine, the Forsaken had widened the road and patrolled it in groups of half a dozen or more, cutting down any Scourge body she used to explore. No wonder; the Forsaken were better dressed than the mindless Scourge, and it was easy for them to tell the difference.

At one point, she held up her hands in surrender and spoke in Orcish. "I'm looking for my friend," she told them, in the drawling tone of a brain-damaged Scourge. "She may be alone. She is carrying a dragon's egg. Or maybe it has hatched."

That left them even more puzzled. "What does she look like?" one asked, but Onyxia could not tell them, beyond, 'she has dark hair.' Samia could be in any form. She might not even be Forsaken; she could have easily chosen an elf's form, or she might even be male bodied. Onyxia abandoned that body and went back to scrolling through the rest. Eventually while wearing another one she found it again, cut to pieces on the road with a hand crushed as if underneath a massive wheel.

There were the worgen, too. They wore Alliance tabards, most of them, and liked to attack undead. Looking for Samia Inkling in Silverpine was only going to be more difficult than in Tirisfal. If only she could possess a worgen! If Samia had sheltered with them, she would be impossible to find. But there were also murlocs in Silverpine. Could she have turned into a murloc?

_At this point, Lady, I think it would be more likely for her to be dead_, said Eduard forlornly.

Onyxia ignored him. She found a small village of undead murlocs beside a stream in lower Silverpine, and began her search upriver. _The rivers are probably the best places to search_, she told Eduard. _She needs water. If she swam from the ship, she may have even remained a naga and kept to the water._

_If you say so, lady_, said Eduard.

_Wait_, said Onyxia. _What's that?_

_What is what, lady?_ said Eduard.

Onyxia paused. Up along the river crouched a small boy, staring into the water.

_There's a human child_, said Onyxia. _He has dark hair and skin. He is definitely alive. That is… unusual enough in Silverpine._ She paused._ He is also naked._

_A feral child, perhaps?_ said Eduard.

_No_, said Onyxia. _He is too young, he looks as if he is five, any children who survived the plague would be older._

The boy in question sat hunched over the water's edge with a mess of twigs and dirt in his hair, peering into the water. He was covered from head to toe in bruises and scrapes. He blinked, as if tired, but he strained to ignore it as his hand darted out with a splash. He withdrew his fist with a fish clutched tightly within it — at least until it slipped out with a plop. Hissing, the boy snatched it up and bit into it even as it squirmed.

Onyxia slowly approached.

The boy sniffed the air and dropped the fish. He turned to face Onyxia, and hissed.

Suddenly, in his place was a whelpling. The whelpling dashed towards Onyxia and scratched at her face. In shock, Onyxia dropped the body.

_Perhaps for the best_, Eduard said, though he sounded interested. _Murlocs cannot speak after all. Are there more human undead nearby?_

_I think I found one_, said Onyxia.

It didn't take long to find the river in another body, but the boy was gone, leaving the fish skeleton and a dead murloc behind him.

"Hello?" Onyxia called out in a stranger's voice. "Samia? Samia Inkling?" She looked around. If only she could smell in this new body, or hear better! But the senses of the undead were beyond repair.

"Samia Inkling?" The boy reappeared, blinking at Onyxia. "Samia." He bared his teeth and hissed.

Onyxia raised her palms, hoping the boy would understand. "I'm looking for Samia. Do you know where Samia is?"

"I'm looking for Samia," the boy parroted her in an exact mimicry of her voice, down to her accent. "Do you know where Samia is?" He tilted his head like an owl. "Samia. Where — yes. Samia. Dragonspawn."

"Yes!" said Onyxia. "Titans, you mustn't be too old if you're still learning to speak. Where is Samia?"

"Samia food," said the boy.

_Wait,_ said Eduard, _he didn't eat her, did he?_

_He's still a whelp_, said Onyxia. _They learn exceptionally quickly, but he is probably still of the age where he does not realise he needs to explain things to us._ Aloud, she said, "Where is Samia?"

"Food," he said.

"So she is eating. Where is she eating?"

"Tree."

_Well,_ said Eduard. _That narrows that one down. At least she is not dinner._

"Which tree?" said Onyxia.

"One tree?" The boy tilted his head the other way until his eyes were almost vertical. "Tree — tree. With bark. It's tree."

Eduard sighed.

"Can you show me?" said Onyxia.

The boy made a puzzled sound.

"Go to Samia," said Onyxia. "Go on. Go to Samia."

The boy seemed to understand. Though he did not turn his back completely on Onyxia, he made his way into the undergrowth. He often stumbled and staggered as if getting used to walking around on two legs, adding to his collection of bruises.

Onyxia saw a light in the trees.

"Samia!" she called.

The boy trilled and charged forward. He tripped on a tree root and fell flat on his face.

"Samia!" Onyxia broke into the clearing.

A camp fire burned, surrounded by rocks. An exhausted Samia Inkling sat on a stump. Even as she looked up, she looked tired. She was thin; thinner than any human Onyxia had ever seen before. The boy turned back into a whelpling and dumped himself in her lap, curling up tightly.

"Who the hell are you?" Samia sounded as if she was on the brink of passing out, fingers stroking the whelpling's back. She didn't seem worried by Onyxia's presence.

"I am Onyxia."

"You look… taller."

"I am possessing a member of the Scourge." Onyxia shook herself. "It is a long story. It is good to see you, Samia. And the whelpling. I see you succeeded."

"Partially. I only have the one child." Samia's eyes looked dead. She was far away from the nervous, fidgeting woman Onyxia had once known. She eyed Onyxia up and down with a raised eyebrow. "Serinar is dead."

"I know," said Onyxia. "I was there."

"He spoke to me." Samia rubbed her eyes. "He doesn't know which child I have. I tried to find out, but he's too young."

"What do you mean?"

"I hoped I could teach him to meditate and speak to the spirits, and judge from there whether or not he is the pure child," said Samia. "But he's too young to understand my instructions, and if I can calm him down enough to focus he falls asleep. I saw him with an earth elemental but it only happened once, and when I try to talk to them, they ignore me. It doesn't help there's a dead guy haunting me."

"… Pardon?"

"A dead man," said Samia. "His head's been bashed in by something. He — died. He keeps following me around and it's hard enough to speak to the spirits without him showing up and scaring them off."

"That used to happen to Sabel." Onyxia sat on the ground and crossed her legs. "The spirits never gave him any rest until he learned to shut them out completely."

"I don't get it," said Samia. "I'm not strong enough to contact them even voluntarily, but this one comes through?"

"It must be desperate. A man, you say?"

"Yes. I feel like I've met him before."

"Stormwind, perhaps?"

"Onyxia." Samia lowered her eyes. "Or whoever you are. I'm too tired to remember. Mel's too tired, too. I'm just exhausted. I need a rest. I can't — I can't figure this out. Not now."

"Mel?" said Onyxia.

"Melanian." Samia stroked the whelpling in her lap. "I called him that. After Sabel's mother. He's — interesting." She shook her head. "I need to sleep. I don't have supplies, I have nothing to eat except to live off the land, and I'm just… I need to sleep."

"I understand," said Onyxia. "Sleep. I will watch over you."

Samia snorted, looking at her body. It must be strange for Samia, interacting with a corpse that claimed to be Onyxia. But if Samia was suspicious, her exhaustion clouded it with apathy. "I know where the other egg is. It hatched."

Onyxia straightened up. "Where?"

"Somewhere in the Hillsbrad-Western Plaguelands area," said Samia. "North eastern Hillsbrad. Ish. I don't know the details. Serinar's ghost told me he sensed something around there. Tarren Mill, maybe?"

Onyxia paused.

"No," she said. "Ravenholdt."

-o-O-o-

When Samia was curled up in a bony ball beside the fire, Onyxia reached out to Bolvar. _I found her._

She felt him stir. _I will not be joining you physically_, he said. _I think I will remain here._

_I understand_, she said. _You sound exhausted._

_How is Samia?_ He brushed off the comment.

_About as tired as you, if for different reasons. Take a look at her._

She felt him come closer into her mind, brush her thoughts slightly as he looked her over. _She looks like death warmed over_, he said. _She hasn't been eating._

_She hasn't any supplies_, said Onyxia. _I expect that happened when she fell overboard. She's been living off the land._

_It's a miracle she's still alive,_ said Bolvar.

_Indeed_. Onyxia felt chilled as she watched Samia rest. _The whelpling is learning to talk._

_Already?_ said Bolvar.

_He has only Samia_, said Onyxia. _A whelpling in a clutch would take much longer to learn to talk because whelplings learn from each other rather than their parents, but he has one-on-one attention. We may take a long time to grow up, but our minds are exceptionally sharp at that young age. He'll slow down soon, but the first few months are rapid and critical. He'll be about as intelligent as an eight-year-old human before he slows down, and then he'll be stuck at that stage of development for years._

_Out of curiosity_, said Bolvar, _how does it affect whelplings to be out of their clutch at this age?_

_We can guess, but we don't actually know, since whelplings left alone don't survive easily. _Onyxia shuffled her stiff body. _Since advancement is so rapid for newborns, I would say he would have trouble adapting to other whelps later even if he is pure. Either way, I see him likely to favour mortals more and reject other dragons whether he's pure or not. It doesn't help that it looks like Samia's been talking to him in her mortal form. If he's shifting this young, then she can't have been a dragonspawn much, if at all._

_So this could still be bad for the Black Dragonflight, then?_ said Bolvar.

Onyxia paused. _I hadn't considered that._ She clasped her fingers. The undead's hands were bigger than hers. _Being pure will not make him a saint, it will only make him immune to the whispers. He could still turn out badly. Even if he's pure, it's important that he holds us in high esteem or he could grow up wishing us harm. Having no brothers and sisters to be around will likely do him damage this early in his development._

_Interesting_, said Bolvar. _So what next?_

_Ravenholdt_, said Onyxia. _It sounds as if the other child is there. Samia said it hatched, I don't know how she knows._

_And it is also isolated from its brothers and sisters,_ Bolvar sighed. _You know, forget the pure whelp. Whichever one of these whelps turns out to be the impure one — it's supposed to be just as powerful as the pure one, isn't it? It's going to be nasty when it gets older._

_Not if we get to it on time_, said Onyxia. _It can't be that old. There is plenty of time. And mental growth does not stop at three months old, it merely slows._

_But you won't be able to have them associate with other whelps, and the corrupt one is bound to try to kill the pure one_, pointed out Fordragon. _Whichever one that turns out to be._

Onyxia pressed her lips together. _I hadn't thought of that either._

Her only answer was a tired sigh from Fordragon.

_Bolvar?_ said Onyxia. _Are you alright?_

_I think..._ his voice was strained. Almost human, again, and she remembered the brown-haired man from Stormwind. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that he and the Lich King were the same person. _I think that rest did me more harm than good. I feel only tireder than before._

_Maybe you should take another rest,_ she said.

_I don't want to risk it,_ he said. And then, his voice was a bare whisper; _I am so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of suspicion, tired of thinking. I can't think clearly anymore. I can't tell up from down. The Old Gods never cease. I always hear them. They're always suspicious... they're trying to turn me against you. The only reason they have not succeeded is because I'm too tired to believe them. Too tired to go against you. Perhaps you'll use that to your advantage. I don't know. I... I'm too tired to care anymore._

Maybe he wasn't completely inhuman after all.

_What can I do to help?_ said Onyxia.

A low breeze picked up. The fire in front of Onyxia began to die. Melanian stirred in his sleep, then stilled.

_Bolvar?_ said Onyxia.

_I don't know,_ he said.

She should hate him. She really should. He'd killed her children, had them skinned, wiped out her brood...

... but it felt as if it had happened to another person in another world. Another Onyxia, another Bolvar Fordragon.

_The tireder I get,_ said Bolvar, _the more they persist. They..._

_Bolvar?_ said Onyxia.

_They know it's only a matter of time,_ he said.

The world felt so much colder, all of a sudden.

_I don't think I'll make it to the end of this,_ said Bolvar. _I'm too tired. I can't, Onyxia. It's not that I won't, it's..._

_It's alright,_ said Onyxia.

_It's not._ Bolvar's words were so quiet she almost didn't hear them, and wondered if, perhaps, she'd imagined that response.

_I am here,_ she told him, simply. _I am here. You have me to speak to. I will make sure you keep on fighting, even when you can't._

His voice was a whisper. _What if it doesn't work? What if I fall? No soldier can fight forever, Onyxia._

Onyxia picked up a twig. Played with it. The fingers of the body she'd possessed were thick and clumsy. Perhaps it was the rudimentary necromantic magic system that held the body together, or perhaps it was the thick fingers, but she had trouble keeping a hold of the twig.

_Then I will fight for you,_ she said. _Somehow_._ I have fought for us all this far, have I not?_

_If worst comes to worst, you may have to kill me,_ said Bolvar.

Onyxia dropped the twig.

_What? _said Bolvar. _You can't honestly tell me you haven't looked forward to that._

Onyxia felt a sad smile on her face at the weak joke. Perhaps the old Bolvar was in there somewhere, after all.

She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

_I think I prefer you as an ally,_ she said dryly.

_Well,_ he said. _I'm glad not the entire world wants the Lich King dead. Can't say I'm not surprised, though._

_Me neither,_ said Onyxia. _I don't think I want it to come to that. I want to see you as you are, without the burden of the Lich King and the Old Gods. See if you're truly that awful human I thought you were._ She snapped the twig in two.

_Onyxia,_ he said.

_Yes?_

_For what it's worth,_ he said, _I know this won't change anything. The only people with that power are the Bronzes, and that they have not done anything about it. And I know that some things are unforgivable, and are... evil. And that can't be changed, or undone._

She snapped the twig into quarters._ But?_

_But,_ he said. _For what it's worth... I'm sorry about your children. About the Wyrmbog. About Blackrock, even. I see now... after these months of being near you and the other dragons, I see you didn't have much choice. That you were doing what you could. That you'd taken a great risk, and that... that there was nothing you could really do. Nothing I could really do. The chasm between humanity and draconity was too deep to cross. If you'd told the truth, it would have ended badly for you anyway. And I put you in that position._

Onyxia stopped. Slowly, she put down the twig. In the silence, the dying embers gave a crackle. _I could pretend it's all your fault, but it's not._

_What I did was worse_, said Bolvar.

_I'm not sure,_ she said. _I kidnapped a king. Violated the mind of his regent. Tore Stormwind apart, and a queen died thanks to my actions. Anduin grew up without a mother or a father. Families all over Stormwind were ruined. Why? Because I was just doing the best I could do. Same as you. In the end, I wonder if I've killed as many children as you have and not even known it._

_You did your best_, said Bolvar.

_I did_, she said. _But we Black dragons are never satisfied if our best was not good enough, and mine was far from it._

She fed the sections of the twigs into the fire. They lasted seconds before they burned up.

_And for what it's worth, on my end,_ she said, _I'm sorry too._


	64. The Beginning of the End

_**A/N:** As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed!_

_**Warning**: Gore._

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**

* * *

Samia looked no less tired, but at least not dead on her feet when she awoke the next morning. "Oh," she said, upon seeing Onyxia. "You're still here. And you haven't killed me."

Onyxia cocked an eyebrow.

"Are you still Onyxia?"

"Indeed, I am."

"Interesting. That's obviously not your body, you don't have the purple eyes. So how…?"

"The Lich King," said Onyxia. "Bolvar Fordragon, incidentally. He allowed me to possess corpses." She paused. Samia seemed unsurprised. Maybe she was too tired to be. Maybe she'd already known. She was Sabel's confidante, after all. "Is that whelpling still sleeping?"

"None of the whelplings in Outland slept as much as he does." Samia scooped up the whelpling, who yawned as she disturbed him. "He's always tired. Sometimes he gets a burst of energy and runs amok, but he tires out far too quickly."

"Is he sick?"

"If he is, he's not getting worse." Samia put the whelpling down. "But neither is he getting better. It looks chronic. I had to swim to the Eastern Kingdoms as a naga, and it was a long distance. I was thinking maybe his lethargy came from being submerged in cold water."

"Hm." Onyxia frowned. "It is true that sometimes dragons die inside the egg, especially when confronted by so much cold, but I have had eggs buried in the mud in Dustwallow before and Dustwallow is quite cold in the winter. The whelplings grow dormant in cold. Perhaps he simply hatched too quickly, before he could properly warm up, and it damaged him?" But how likely was that explanation?

Samia shrugged, placing Melanian in a sling around her neck like a human baby. Not that Melanian minded. "I'm going to gather some food. Will you join me?"

"Of course."

To Onyxia's relief, it was easy to find food; many crops had grown out of control in the Silverpine farms. The trouble was finding a farm not overrun with worgen. One not far away had not been touched; Samia wandered in without fear, making Onyxia prickle with concern. The dragonspawn seemed so apathetic to everything; perhaps it was her exhaustion. Samia bent by a tomato bush and began inspecting the red fruit. "It is a great time of year to have to live off the land." She pulled it off, sinking her teeth into it, speaking with her mouth full. "I have to admit, though, what I wouldn't give for a good steak right now. Even in Outland, there was not a lot of food safe for humans or dragonspawn to eat." She wiped her chin with a raggy sleeve. "A lot of it was tainted by fel energy. I haven't had a good meal since Stormwind."

What had Onyxia's last meal been? She couldn't remember. "Tell me about Melanian. He seems to have grasped shifting already."

"He was already learning to talk on his second day," said Samia. "Faster than any other whelpling, but then, most whelpling don't get one-on-one attention. He's been running around as much as his energy'll allow. Learning to walk, talk, run… he was copying me at first, just the sounds I made. Then he figured out there was a pattern to them. After that he started making his own sentences."

"What about the other one? How did you discover where that egg was?"

"Serinar's spirit came to me as I was meditating," said Samia, plucking another red fruit and scooping it into a large pocket of fabric she kept around her waist. "I think I might have mentioned him. He chased off the ghost that's been haunting me. He told me he sensed the other egg in that area I mentioned. I didn't know Ravenholdt was up there."

"Not many people do." Onyxia crossed her arms. "It was thanks to the Suicide Squad's intelligence that I knew its location at all."

"Suicide Squad?"

"My squad of dragonspawn in Stormwind Keep."

"Ah. Yes, I remember now." Samia tossed aside a rotten tomato. "The birds have gotten to most of these. And the worgen too, probably. So what have I missed?"

It felt like Onyxia would never stop talking. She talked from the laying of Nalice's eggs, to the confrontation with Bolvar Fordragon, to Seldarria's false diplomacy, to Serinar' and Indigosa's deaths, Sabellian's capture and the conversation between the Red Flight and Lesliora. After Onyxia finished talking about the Bronzes' influences, Samia paused, her back to her.

Her shoulders slumped. She turned around. "So I was supposed to have Melanian, then."

"Yes," said Onyxia. "I believe you were."

Sitting with her lower legs folded neatly undeath her, Samia looked back to the bush in front of her. "Do you remember Horan Bronzewing?"

"How could I?" said Onyxia. "She set me up to die."

"You're not the only one," said Samia. "There's another person I see sometimes when I meditate. A true spirit, not just a ghost. A little girl. Horan Bronzewing let her die, too."

"Who?"

"Amandine."

Onyxia paused for a long moment. "Blood sickness is blood sickness. Without interfering in the timelines — "

"Like Horan has already?" Samia turned back to look at her again, her face gaunt. "She interfered in the timelines so that the Black Dragonflight would live — or so we assume. But she didn't save one little sick girl."

"I do not know, Samia," said Onyxia. "I do not want to belittle your grief, but surely there was a reason. The changes that have been made — "

" — Are so big that one more saved life can hardly make a difference." Samia lowered her head. "But it does. I know that, now. I've figured it out. I know why Mandy died."

"Why?"

Samia stroked Melanian's head. "Because I was the one who had to find Melanian."

Onyxia rounded her, carefully, to get a better look at Samia's face. As Samia stared into space, her eyes glistened in the dim Silverpine light. "I am sorry, Samia."

"I wouldn't have gone to Outland if I had Mandy to look after," Samia murmured. "It was Amandine's death that pushed me into the Black Dragonflight, that drove me closer to Nalice, that eventually took me to Sabel. And then, here. Here, with a little sick whelp who may or may not be our salvation, but had to be found nonetheless."

"Then this was meant to happen," said Onyxia, quietly. "He was meant to be isolated from his peers all along. He was meant to come to reject them."

"Reject them?" Samia looked up at Onyxia.

"I told Bolvar last night that the first few months of a whelp's life are especially formative," said Onyxia. "They learn to socialise from birth, where they learn the rules of the pecking order and endure the Purging. I believe a whelpling on their own will find it difficult to socialise with other dragons. The longer he goes without communicating with other whelps during this period, the more likely it is he will reject his own kind. If he is especially unlucky, they will reject him in turn."

Samia blinked at her. A tear slid down her cheek.

"It will mean different things to both hatchlings," said Onyxia. "For the pure dragon, if we succeed, it will mean it will be easier for him to foster relationships with mortals when he grows up, which is better for us in the long run, but it may make it difficult for him to lead us. If we fail, he will be hunted for the rest of his life."

"And the decoy?"

"The decoy is the one to be most concerned about," said Onyxia. "Their isolation combined with their inherited power and corruption will make him a fearsome enemy to all dragons. Possibly even mortals."

Samia ran a finger down one of Melanian's horns. The sleeping whelpling stirred slightly.

"Then I had better finish eating," said Samia, "and we will to go Ravenholdt with all due haste."

"Samia."

"What?"

Onyxia hesitated. She put one awkward, oversized hand on Samia's shoulder.

"The Bronzes play us like chess pieces, sacrificing some of us without our consultation, without our agreements," said Onyxia. "I am sorry about Amandine. Death is death."

Samia nodded, and shrugged off Onyxia's hand. "We should go."

-o-O-o-

Nalice landed heavily in the greenery of the Eversong Forest, beside a small pond. Hills rolled around her, crested with offensively green trees, and mountains rose to the south. She stretched her limbs, then allowed them to shrink until she stood in human form in the grass.

Her knees shook and could barely take her weight. She staggered to a tree and slid down against its smooth bark until she sat in the grass. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. The sun touched her throat, a weak autumn caress.

The crippled whelpling struggled out of her arms and fell to the grass. She sat there, panting.

Titans, they must have made that journey in record time. The tail wind had been incredible. But moving shot sharp pain through Nalice's back and even in human form, she felt the ghost of her wings ache.

She let her head roll onto her shoulder and cracked her eyes open. The whelpling sat in the grass, staring at her. Nalice heard the whelpling's stomach growl, saw her ribs, saw how dry her tongue was.

"Well?" As Nalice's voice came out in a croak, she was reminded of the dryness of her own throat. "Are you going to eat and drink or not?"

As if she understood her, the whelpling struggled to her feet and dragged herself towards the pond. She took a long, deep drink.

Nalice pulled herself to her feet. She fell to her knees once she reached the pond, and forced herself only to drink a little. _Slowly, you stupid whelpling_, she thought as the whelpling guzzled the water, only to cough it back up again. _You're getting sick._

"Your father was an idiot," she said aloud. "No wonder you turned out the same way."

The whelpling coughed up more water, only to guzzle some more.

Serinar. What a fool. What kind of idiot got themselves captured by Reds and collared like some human's dog? Who was going to mind the Obsidian Dragonshrine now?

Oh, wait, there _wasn't_ anyone to mind the shrine, because Serinar was a moron and caved the place in. Good job, Serinar. Good job.

(Nobody left at the shrine. Nobody left to ignore her scathing comments. Nobody left to listen to her. Nobody left to father her whelps. And, one day, when what was left of the Black Dragonflight went to the shrine again, there would be no Shrinekeeper there to greet them.)

Her eyes stung. Nalice took another drink. Now she'd started, her throat cried for water, and yet her eyes were leaking.

Mortals tended to have allergic reactions to nature, perhaps dragons could be the same in mortal form. True, she was thousands of years old and had never had such a reaction, but these were the stupid elven lands and things like hayfever tended to crop up out of nowhere, didn't they?

Didn't they?

Beside Nalice, the whelpling finally slowed down her drinking. She licked her chops and ambled over to the tree with a strange, bat-like gait. Nalice took another drink as the pain in her eyes slowly faded and watched the whelpling. Forever lame on all four crooked limbs and two bad wings, and the little creature didn't care.

Nalice could kill her. She usually would. Weak should be purged, et cetera, whatever, stupid Old Gods. Killing sounded good though.

(But… why?

Really. Why?)

Four legs ruined forever, crippled, whatever. Kill her. It'd be saving the Black Dragonflight from whatever weak children the whelpling might one day produce, because obviously broken legs were hereditary and an awful affliction that would kill them all and were a bigger threat than Deathwing, the mortal races and the Old Gods. Screw _them_, there was a crippled whelpling to put down! In fact, she was so weak she just ran around on all fours like she didn't care. So weak that she chased a rat underneath a rock with surprising speed!

Now that Nalice thought about it, the Old Gods weren't the sharpest eldrich beings in the void.

Nalice took one last drink and sat back, watching the whelpling scrabble and dig at the rock.

Mortals were weak, and yet they overran Azeroth while the last handful of Black dragons fled extinction.

Nalice closed her eyes.

The corruption was strong. The Old Gods wanted her to die, wanted her to kill, wanted her to purge.

And yet.

Nalice could stand up and walk to the rock. So she did.

Nalice could lift the rock, so that the whelpling could pounce on the rat underneath. So she did.

Nalice could allow the whelpling to live and eat. So she did.

"We thought ourselves strong and we were wrong," Nalice murmured to the whelpling as it ripped off the rat's head. "Onyxia thinks the corruption is strong. But she's wrong again, isn't she? This is… this is _easy_. How is it she shook it off so easily, how is it we all did?"

The whelpling looked up at her with a bloody snout.

"Were the Old Gods just an excuse for our own darkness all along?"

The whelpling licked her snout, and then attacked her rat again, pinned between two awkward forelegs.

"You're eating," said Nalice. "You won't starve to death. Because I helped you eat. It had nothing to do with strength or weakness. I lifted the rock, you ate the rat. So simple it is stupid."

Nalice dropped the rock. She rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. Everything hurt, everything ached. She sighed, and let her weak knees buckle underneath her.

"I shall call you Katia," she murmured to the whelpling. "You will not live long enough to give yourself a name, so I shall save you the trouble."

Something rumbled beside her. Nalice looked up to see an earth elemental rise from the earth. It hovered uncertainly, watching her. Another appeared not far away.

"Ah, I see we have an audience," she said.

The elementals turned to the north. The rotating rocks that made up their stomachs sped up, as if in agitation.

Nalice followed their gazes. Over the northern sea, the far away thunderheads held a tinge of red.

"He's coming, isn't he?" said Nalice. "My dear grandfather?" Her heart sped up, and she murmured, "Wonderful. Is this to be my end, then? Hunted like a fox? Hunted like _Sabellian?_"

A breeze teased at her unwashed hair. She thought she felt fingers touch her cheek.

"I understand, air spirits."

Nalice's legs still hurt, and her stomach growled, but she stood up.

Sabellian wanted her to find the Black Prince, and it was in her best interests to do so before Deathwing caught up. The Heir of Earth was just a whelp, in the end, like Katia. But what other hope was left?

Where would she even start?

An air elemental coalesced beside Nalice. She'd seen air elementals before; the currents that made up this one spun faster than any other she'd seen before. It was worried.

"Interesting that I had assistance," said Nalice. "Unexpected, but… appreciated. But your work is not yet done. I need more."

The little tornado that was the air elemental only sped up further.

"You're an elemental," said Nalice. "One of the air. Will you listen to me?"

Its eyes darted around, panicked.

"You _need_ to listen to me."

Its fingers twitched. Tightened into a ball. Loosened again.

"_Listen to me!_"

Slowly, it looked at her.

"The Black Prince is all we have left," said Nalice. "Can you recognise him, if you saw him? You must take me to him."

It shuffled on the spot.

"You must be able to recognise him." Nalice bent over to pick up Katia. "The corruption is driving you all insane, so surely you can recognise the absence of corruption? He is not corrupt. He'd be like — like the calm in a storm."

The elemental looked to the north west. Then it paused and looked directly south.

"You must find the Black Prince and take me to him," said Nalice. "Before Deathwing kills or captures me. Listen to me!"

But the winds that made up the elemental were fading from sight, blowing away from her.

"No!" Nalice clenched a fist. "Stay! I need you!"

The elemental dissipated into the air, leaving nothing behind but Nalice and the crippled whelpling.

Nalice clenched her jaw. She looked to the north.

The red glow was stronger than before.

Nalice's breath caught.

She snatched Katia from the ground. "We need to go. _Now_."

-o-O-o-

Onyxia, Samia and Melanian made their way through lower Silverpine. The tall pines, with their colossal scratch marks peeling back the bark, eventually grew shorter and shorter. The bluish hues of the grass and pine needles grew more golden in their greenery. Down here, there were no Forsaken to be found. They passed a swamp and the road veered away towards open air dotted only with the occasional cluster of trees rather than sheltered woods.

With Samia found, the Ambassador retreated from Vengeance Landing. Instead, he made his way to Sholazar on Bolvar's orders to find Sabellian.

Along their journey, Samia chattered about Melanian's life so far; how in his first few days he tried to copy her human form, how he'd mimicked her speech until he discovered patterns and how words labelled concepts, how he had learned to walk but had trouble running. As they travelled, sometimes Melanian shifted into a human boy. Often this meant they had to stop for Samia to attempt to wrestle scavenged clothing onto him, but Melanian often yelled "No!" and tore off into the trees only to catch up with them hours later as if nothing had happened. He spent a lot of his time as a whelpling resting in the sling, eyes shut, grumbling softly in half-sleep, or mimicking Onyxia' and Samia's voices with startling accuracy. Sometimes, during his more energetic moments, he trotted behind them in mortal form, announcing every landmark that appeared with, "A big tree!" or "rocks!" and sometimes, "spider!"

Unexpectedly, they found themselves confronted with a Forsaken blockade, but at the time Melanian was shifted into his true form as a whelpling, and the three of them, with Bolvar lurking in the back of Onyxia's mind, had no trouble.

Soon enough, an ocean breeze came upon them. Samia could feel the freshness of the southern ocean on her skin, but she couldn't smell its salt. When Onyxia expressed curiosity, Samia told her about the Dragonbane, leaving Onyxia scowling.

"We should avoid the road," said Onyxia later. "Bolvar's suggestion. He said there'll be Southshore patrols."

"Didn't something happen to Southshore?" said Samia. "It was attacked by Forsaken, or something."

"Indeed," said Onyxia. "Bolvar says he knew someone who lived there." She blinked, staring into the distance as if listening to something. "Ah. Yes. Them. They left Stormwind after we did."

"Who?" said Samia.

"The Hacketts."

"Who?"

"Remember Richard Hackett, that little boy Anduin used to have trouble with? His parents."

"Ah. Yes."

The wide blue of the early morning gradually relinquished its grip to fluffy white clouds that heralded the arrival of flatter, grey ones. They passed the Sludge Fields, and did not stop. "Eduard was supposed to meet us here, but he's having trouble with transport," said Onyxia. "It seems there is a storm above the Undercity right now. He'll have to catch up to us later."

Eduard's storm came south, making the clouds grow darker as Samia and Onyxia approached the eastern river. Their route forced them onto the road, but they met no one. It grew cold enough that Melanian did not complain when Samia forced him to dress.

Samia said, "I don't like the look of this. It might rain. There's bound to be Forsaken about."

"I don't think there's any down here," said Onyxia.

Melanian said, "Trees!" and pointed at a group of pines.

"Once we cross the bridge we can follow the river north," said Onyxia. "We won't encounter Forsaken there."

Melanian tipped something into Samia's hands. "What this?"

"Pine cone," said Samia. Melanian plucked it out of her fingers and ran off.

The heavens dumped on them not long later, leaving even Onyxia swearing and Samia quietly, resignedly pulling her rags tigher around her. Melanian returned with a half-eaten dead rat, looking up at the sky with wide eyes, yelling and chattering. He jumped in puddles, whooped and tried to drink the rain. Samia pulled more rags around his shoulders, only for them to be abandoned in a puddle half a mile on and for Melanian to crawl, shivering and once again four-legged, into Samia's sling.

The rain went on for days, an unending lash of water that pursued them well into Hillsbrad. At one point, Melanian cried out, "Bridge!" and they stopped for yet another night. The river had swollen almost to bursting, making the bridge treacherous and slippery. Instead, Samia kept a tight grip on Melanian and the two of them drifted in and out of fitful sleep. Every now and then, the crack of thunder or flash of lightning jerked her out of sleep, making Melanian shriek. Sometimes, she'd fall asleep again between the thunder and the lightning.

One time she woke up, it was to Melanian's voice. He was a boy again. "What that?"

"What what?" Samia blinked, bleary-eyed. Onyxia straightened up.

Melanian pointed to a shadow in the sky.

"A cloud." Samia grumbled and curled up tighter.

"That's not a cloud," said Onyxia. "That's a dragon."

"Is it stupid?" said Samia. "It's in the middle of a storm, does it want to get struck out of the sky?" She paused. "Is it me, or is the sky turning red?"

Sheet lightning illuminated the world, and the silhouette of a dragon far above.

"Is that Nalice?" Samia scrambled to her feet. Melanian almost fell out of his sling. "I can't tell from here."

"If the dragon behind her is Deathwing," said Onyxia quietly. "Then it's Nalice."

"Dragon behind her? What — wait. Those aren't mountains? … Yeah, mountains don't fly."

The lightning came again. A massive shape in the sky blocked most of it out, but the darkness came again before Samia could make out the silhouette. Her jaw dropped open. Bright purple split the sky, and a fireball collided with a sodden copse of trees and ignited them.

"That's Deathwing's fire," said Onyxia. "The rain won't put that out easily. Our Flight's flame wouldn't hurt her, but that fire is wrong. Corrupt."

Another strike of lightning showed a small, winged figure fleeing the bigger one, that took up half the sky. A roar shook the world. Melanian screamed, shifting into a whelpling, and Samia jammed her palms over her ears. "We need to go!" Samia grabbed Melanian before he could fly towards the figure. "Across the bridge, head straight to Ravenholdt, if we keep up a good pace we'll be in the foothills before midday — "

"We need to help Nalice!" Onyxia grit her teeth.

"And how do you suppose we're going to do that?" said Samia. "I'm a dragonspawn, you're posessing a dead human, and Melanian's a whelp. If this is the decoy with us, she'll kill us if anything happens to him. If we attract Deathwing's attention we're _all_ dead!"

Samia felt a wave of heat, and a fireball the size of a boulder soared over their heads, so close that the outer layer of Samia's clothing sizzled. A nearby tree stood there one moment, blazed the next.

"Come on!" snapped Samia. The stream of fire was right above them now, and Samia sprinted onto the road, clutching Melanian to her breast. The wooden planks of the bridge ricketted under her feet as she ran. Beneath her, the river churned, spraying onto the bridge. Samia slipped and almost slid between two railings into the river. She clawed back onto her feet, rain lashing in her eyes, barely able to see a thing —

Nalice cried out. A fireball grew larger in Samia's vision, heading straight towards her.

Where should she run? Right? Left? But her feet remained rooted to the bridge. Where should she run? _Where should she run?_

"Oh, shit," said Samia.

The fireball connected with the railing. The explosion rended the bridge into splinters, ripping it from the earth like a tornado. Samia's body forgot gravity as the wooden planks tumbled with her and Melanian through the air.

All she remembered was reflex, which seized Melanian's little body in a vice grip and did not let go.

Then gravity called for them, and they plunged into icy water.

-o-O-o-

The rain slammed down as if seeking to drown them all in revenge, mixing with acrid smoke to douse Wrathion in the stench of wet charcoal. The red clouds flashed with lightning above as the rogues spilled from the manor in creaking leather, holding guns and crossbows.

As if the weapons would make a difference.

Wrathion stepped calmly into the rain, making for the slope that showed the best view of Hillsbrad Foothills. Lord Ravenholdt and Fahrad followed at each shoulder. Wrathion listened as the rogues called to each other, and the tell-tale creaks of catapults as they came out. Even now, Wrathion could hear the fear in Lord Ravenholdt's mind. Fahrad was tight with anticipation.

Something screamed. It wasn't human. Fahrad cringed.

Wrathion stopped, and clasped his hands behind his back. Beneath stretched out the eternal hills of Hillsbrad, far below them.

Two shadows — one the size of a cottage, the other the size of a kingdom — twisted and turned in the air below, set against a backdrop of dark green. The ribbon of Hillsbrad River twisted away to the coast, and the smaller shadow wheeled over it. Deathwing unleashed a fireball, but it missed Nalice and slammed straight into a bridge, blasting it into splinters. It was so small and the rain so thick that if Wrathion did not have the sight of a dragon, he would have had no idea it was there.

Deathwing barely moved except to turn. Nalice dodged, wheeled and ducked with the agility of a drake. She rounded a mountain; Deathwing calmly followed, spewing another fireball which collided with a peak and triggered a land slide of snow and steaming slush.

The rain pounded harder. Wrathion's turban grew heavy with water. Calmly, he took it off.

Even now, in the midst of panic, Wrathion could still touch Nalice's mind. All rational thought had deserted her. He saw and felt flashes — a glimpse of a charred undead corpse beside the river below, a feeling of panic, a glimpse of strange black tears in the air. Air elementals surged around her, giving lift to her wings and direction to the rudder of her tail. Their panic and fear added to hers.

But then hers was gone, replaced by the cold calm of inevitability.

_I am going to die, _she said.

The wind picked up and howled, blasting the stench of smoke and metal towards Wrathion, mingled with Nalice's scent. As Wrathion watched her, a compulsion rose within him — a compulsion to go to her, to fight the behemoth that even now trapped her against a mountain, to snap at him like mosquitos at a tauren, or to die trying.

Deathwing reached out a massive paw and batted Nalice out of the sky.

Nalice crumpled and dropped like a stone.

The elements screamed.

Lord Ravenholdt clamped his palms over his ears. Wrathion winced and screwed his eyes shut. The humans called out. The bray of the elements overwhelmed them, even overwhelmed the humans. A man fell to his knees in the soaking grass behind them. Wrathion took a breath and steadied himself as the screams died down. With his intrinsic but unhoned ability, he could hear… something. It was like listening through a thick stone wall, with nothing but vibrations and deep muffled tones on the other side, but he could feel the elementals calling for —

For who? Him? They were calling, panicking, but — why? Were they panicking for Nalice, or panicking because they let Sabellian down? Or were they panicking for Samia Inkling and the decoy who, even now, tumbled and struggled in the river? Wrathion felt Samia's helplessness from here.

But even as he nudged the elements they sprang away from him like a cat from a gush of water. They shrunk away, but they could see him, and —

Were they afraid of him?

_Afraid of what you will become_, said a whisper of wind in his ear.

Sholazar appeared in Wrathion's mind's eye; Sabellian, crumpled against the table, making cultists mutter. He could sense the Reds in the trees surrounding the camp, on the brink of the attack. He could see into the mind of the Ambassador, camped halfway up a tree, watching the Reds watch the cultists and Sabellian. Far away, he felt Onyxia shake from a second death. Felt her stand up, shake away the memory of fire burning the corpse she'd possessed, call out to Bolvar, call out to Eduard and the Ambassador.

The Ambassador began to argue with her. Their words swam away, unnoticed, as Wrathion looked around the clearing in Sholazar.

Black tears had begun to open up in the air.

The cultists looked to each other, puzzled. Seldarria perched on a tree stump, watching the tears without surprise.

Far away, in Wyrmrest Temple, Wrathion saw Alexstrasza examine a tear through her eyes. It seemed two dimensional; no matter how much she circled it, it appeared the same to her from all angles.

"Nozdormu," said Alexstrasza. "What is this? What does it mean?"

"The universe is unstable," said Nozdormu. Wrathion couldn't see him. "The paradox that created our universe has begun. Tomorrow night, there were more."

"Paradoxes have no beginning." Alexstrasza frowned at the tear. As she rounded it, Wrathion saw Nozdormu watching from behind it. "That is what they are by nature; an endless cycle that devours its own tail."

"This is the true beginning," said Nozdormu. "It was not the moment that Hora Peddlefeet spoke to Bolvar Fordragon, in a hospital wing many years ago, like many think it is. It was _this_ moment. Here and now, it all began."

Alexstrasza reached out to touch the tear. She hesitated, finger an inch from the surface, and drew her hand back. "And what was this moment?"

"A boy began to drown," said Nozdormu. "And set off a chain of events which would lead to giving a young Bronze dragon hope that there was a universe in which the Old Gods lost. Hora was right. Everything has changed, even the past. I saw what Murozond saw, I saw what he had screamed about as he died. But my fate was not to be his. Chromie came to me, took me by the hand and showed me a vision I thought did not exist. But for you, it is not over yet. You have until dawn, the day after tomorrow, and then the paradox will be closed."

"What will happen then?"

Nozdormu smiled. "The end."

Ravenholdt's voice cut into Wrathion's meditation. "What is it doing?"

Wrathion looked into the valley below. Deathwing hovered in place, gazing at him with one eye.

Wrathion raised his voice. "Ready the catapults!"

"We can't fight that!" said Ravenholdt.

"Then you'll die trying."

Ravenholdt looked at Wrathion. Emotions played across his face. Desperation. Fear. Terror.

"Or," Wrathion probed his mind, "are you beginning to regret your allegiance?"

"No." Ravenholdt knew Wrathion knew he was lying, but he lied anyway. "Not at all."

The rogues behind them shook like leaves in the howling wings.

"Then ready the catapults." Wrathion turned away from the human.

Deathwing looked him in the eye. Beneath everything, beneath the scream of the winds and the wails of the elements, Wrathion felt… something else.

Pain. Agony. Charred branches beneath a wounded body.

_Nalice_.

She was wounded, but Nalice was alive.

"Then why won't you finish the job?" Wrathion murmured, looking to the greatness of Deathwing. Deathwing did not break eye contact. "Come on, you oversized lizard. Come get me. Come meet your maker."

"You are _joking."_ Spitting, Ravenholdt wheeled around and stalked away to his rogues. Fahrad sighed.

Deathwing did not move from his position. He hovered there, watching him.

Why?

Wrathion reached out a tendril. He sensed —

Acknowledgement.

_You are my heir_. Deathwing's deep, chasmic voice reverberated through Wrathion's being. His knees buckled beneath him. _I will not fight this. You have been chosen. You are my heir, and the heir to the Heart of Earth. When I fall, you will take my place._

Wrathion reached in a little further.

He treaded water in a sea of tentacles and corruption, in utter blackness. The tentacles did not reach out for him, they did not try to harm him. It was almost as if they didn't notice him.

He heard another voice; Seldarria's.

_The pillars are ready_, said Seldarria. _The siege will begin tomorrow, at dusk._

And then Wrathion found himself again, waist-deep in wet grass and knees in the mud, shaking with awe underneath a red sky.

Deathwing turned, and departed on the wind.

The storm went with him, leaving nothing but silence and Nalice's distant, pained cries.

Wrathion drew in a shaking breath, closed his eyes, and turned his face to the sky.

-o-O-o-

Melanian and Samia tumbled through the rapids. Samia gulped for air but it did not come, and her body fought for survival. Her skin became scales, her legs became a tail, but even the powerful limbs of a naga could not save her from the grip of the river. She gasped, and both air and water flooded her gills. She barely managed to hold onto Melanian in the chaos as the whelpling thrashed and struggled. She tossed and turned in the water, thought she caught another flash of purple, felt the temperature of the water rise to searing before it was freezing again, cold enough to make her cry out in pain. The bubbles snatched away her cries. She hit her head on a rock, making her jaw snap shut over her own tongue. She tasted blood. A log scraped halfway down her side before the current took her again. Something poked her in the eye. Melanian's struggles grew weaker. The current shoved her into open air, and Melanian came to life again for a moment before the two of them tumbled down a cliffside. Samia collided with a rock halfway down, and the bang on her hip was agonising, before the water reclaimed them. Melanian's claws dug so deeply into her arms she could feel, rather than see, the blood draining from her. His claws loosened and soon let go, but she did not.

For what felt like an eternity the river bore them away. Innumerable times, a rock hit her head or scraped a leg or her face. She felt her nose break. She inhaled mud. Her body felt fuzzy, tingly.

After what felt like forever, her tail lashed out at the water and she could steer. The current still pulled at her, but she fought it, swam across rather than against, and before she knew it her arms scraped the ground and the river tossed her up onto the bank. She let go of Melanian and transformed back into a human, gasping for air and coughing up water and mud. She bent over with her forearms pressed to the silt, hacking and coughing and retching.

Finally, she looked up, and saw Melanian crumpled on the sand.

He didn't move.

Her heart felt as if it had stopped in her chest. The little whelpling was completely still. She scrambled to him and turned Melanian onto his right side.

She opened his jaws and pulled his tongue to the side, cleared his throat of mud and leaves. Closed his mouth. Blew life into his nostrils. Waited for a few counts. Blew in more air. Rinse. Repeat. _Come on, come on, don't you dare die on me, whoever you wind up being, when you grow up you'll have more power than you could ever dream of wanting — _

A shriek split her eardrums, and Melanian turned onto the side and gagged into the sand. Samia slumped to the side, grinning in relief through her tears as Melanian coughed up his lungs and everything in them. Finally, after long minutes, all the water and mud was expelled and Melanian went still on the ground.

Samia crept closer. His little yellow eyes were glazed over, but he was alive and rasping. "Hey, little guy." She pulled him close and wrapped her body around him, wrapped her heat around him. Weakly, he snuggled close, and stuck his snout up her shirt and wriggled between it and her bare skin. She let him, and ignored the scrape of his claws as he settled close to her.

Neither of them moved until long after dawn.

-o-O-o-

The rainclouds cleared up just in time for the sun to clear the horizon. The headache to end all headaches wrenched Samia from unconsciousness. She groaned as she sat up, and looked around. Melanian still slumbered inside her shirt.

She blinked.

Where was the river?

But as she scanned the horizon, there was nothing but beach to her east and west, greenery to her north and a calm sea to her south, lapping innocently at their feet. Samia looked across it and saw the distant peaks of Dun Morogh rise. Looked to the west and saw mountains. And pines. Blue pines, just off in the distance there, and a Forsaken tower.

"That can't be right." Her throat burned, making her voice croak. "We can't have been washed all the way near Silverpine."

Gulls called above. A few crabs scuttled in the sand. Smoke rose from the north east, but Samia could not smell it. She struggled to her feet. Her legs buckled underneath her and she fell to her knees. Melanian awoke with a shriek and flurry of claws. Samia winced as she felt the blood bead at her stomach. She pulled off her shirt, making Melanian fall out with a yelp, and surveyed the damage. Ignoring the scratch Melanian just gave her, she counted sixteen separate bruises, eight scratches and a nasty, half-healed gash that disappeared under her waistband.

And that was just her ribs.

Melanian struggled to shift, at first, but his mortal form returned to him. There would be no clothes for him; Samia had lost them and the makeshift pack she'd fashioned down the river. He whimpered and grabbed his head.

"Headache?" She murmured.

"Where Onyxia?" He peered at her.

She coughed. "Gone. Maybe the fire got her."

"The dragon?" As he rubbed his forehead, Samia saw his hand shook lightly. "What is Nalice?"

"Your mother. Maybe. Maybe she isn't."

"What's a mother? Where is Nalice?"

"She made you. Maybe. And — I don't know where she is." An echo of Nalice's scream reverberated in Samia's head. She felt a lump in her throat. "Titans. I hope he didn't get her. I hope he didn't get her."

Melanian blinked at her.

He reached out for her, touching the scratches on her stomach. His fingers turned green. The scratches closed, but did not heal further as the light sputtered out.

She blinked at him. "You can heal now?"

"Can what?" He withdrew his hand.

Samia pulled her shirt back on. "Heal. Heh. Sabellian can heal, too. No matter who you turn out to be I think you could learn from him."

Melanian just tilted his head.

The two of them sat in silence for a long moment.

Melanian said, "Now what?"

Yes. Indeed.

Now what?

Deathwing was gone. But was that good or bad? Was he gone because Nalice had led him elsewhere, or was he gone because Nalice was dead?

Samia closed her eyes. _Please, Nalice, you have to be okay._ Wherever she was, she was far from help now.

All that was left was her, Melanian, Onyxia and a twitchy, Old God infested Lich King with a grudge.

_They're picking us off one by one._

But there was still a whelpling in Ravenholdt to collect. And there was one way to check Nalice was dead.

Samia swallowed. Her palms sweat. The spirits never listened to her, and there was that dead man with the head injury, but…

_Be brave,_ Sabel had told her more than once.

She crossed her legs and closed her eyes, and opened her mind.

With the discomfort of her body, it took longer than usual to become attuned to the elementals and spirits.

_Nalice?_ she called.

Nothing answered.

_Nalice_, said Samia. _If you are there, I need you to tell me. Please, Nalice, we need to know! Are you there? Are you dead?_

But there was still no answer.

Hope bloomed in Samia's heart. _She's still alive._

"Help me!"

"Oh no!" Samia opened her eyes.

The dead man stood in front of her, but this time he was clear and solid as day. "Please," he groaned, as blood streamed down his face, obfuscating his features. "You need to help me. Please, my son — "

His clothing was encrusted in dirt. One eye was swollen shut, and leaked fluid. Dried blood crusted his half-caved in head, and plastered his hair to his face. His nose looked as if it had broken over and over. He held one hand to the bloodied part of his skull. The fingertips were black, and his face was caked in bruises. He had gangrene up to his elbows. "Please," his voice was weak, and he sounded in tears. "I need your help, I need your help, I need your help."

Recognition hit her like a punch to the gut.

"Carlos." She rose, staring at him in horror. "Carlos Hackett. Oh, _Titans_. Speak to me, tell me what happened."

"Help me!" His milky eyes stared right through her. "Please, my son, he's — he's so sick, please, they're monsters, what they're doing to him. Reenie escaped but they won't help her. Reenie, where are you? Are you okay? Please, help my son! You have to help him! He's in the Sludge Fields. He's not going to make it, please, _please_." He broke down sobbing. His next word ripped from him in a hysterical scream. "_Please!_"

Samia reached out. Her hand passed through him.

Carlos Hackett faded from sight.

Samia collapsed to her knees.

Carlos. Dear Carlos Hackett. Always trying to get closer to Katrana Prestor. Always blissfully unaware of his little boy, Richard, running amok. But Richard was in trouble, now?

"How old would Richard be, now?" Samia murmured. "A young man."

Melanian watched her, still rubbing his head and whimpering.

Samia licked her dry lips with a parched tongue. Wiped her nose on her arm. "Reenie. Who was that, again? His wife?"

"Yes," said Melanian, suddenly. "There."

Samia looked up.

A woman walked along the beach. Her hair was cut short to her jaw, and in one hand she held a battered fishing rod in one hand and a basket in the other. She stared out to the grey ocean, frowning. She caught sight of Samia, then, and stopped.

Instantly, Samia recognised her. She grinned despite the pain.

"Onyxia?" Samia stood up, muscles screaming as she did. "How did you get here so fast?"

Onyxia took a step back, eyes wide. She drew the daggers on her hips.

"No," said Melanian. "Reenie." He stood up and trotted to her.

"Mel? Mel, dammit!"

The woman stopped, and blinked at the naked boy walking towards her. "What the…?"

"Hello." Melanian stopped in front of her. "I am Melanian."

The woman looked between her and Samia. Samia stepped closer, carefully. "You're Black dragons," said the woman. "Aren't you?"

It was Onyxia's voice, Onyxia's face, but her skin had more colour to it and the crystals in her face were gone. She had one eye, bright and silver, like ice. "I can tell, Melanian, by your name. And by your smile. You don't show your teeth."

The woman bared her teeth at Melanian, who flinched.

Samia blinked. Took a tentative step forward. "Nalice?"

"Wrong again." The woman sheathed her daggers. "Try anything, and I'll kill you." She looked Samia up and down. "Black dragon or not."

"You'd take a Black dragon in a fight?" said Samia.

"Your words speak a threat." The woman eyed her. "But your tone is apathetic. You don't care anymore, don't you?" She snorted, and shrugged. "No. I've had enough with Black dragons, and a full grown one could kill me in a heartbeat. Who are you? What are you?"

"I'm sorry," said Samia. "I am not a dragon. I am dragonspawn." She caught a glint in the woman's eye. Perhaps divulging that was not wise. "This is Melanian, my… ward, I suppose. He's pretty much a newborn. Are you Reenie?"

The woman blinked. "Ah. You have heard of me. Yes. I am Reenie Hackett."

Oh, hell. "Any relation to Carlos Hackett?"

"He's my husband."

"So you're Richard's mother."

Reenie arched an eyebrow. "Yes."

"He's in the Sludge Fields," said Samia.

Reenie's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How do you know that?"

"I'm a shaman." Samia shifted from foot to foot. "Your husband's ghost just appeared to me. He's dead. I'm sorry. But Richard is still alive, he told me, and he desperately needs help."

Reenie closed her eyes. Inhaled through her nose. "I see." She opened her eye. It glistened in the morning light. "You're so free with this information. Why?"

"He asked me to help," said Samia.

"You're part of the Black Dragonflight." Reenie sneered.

"The Black Dragonflight is not exactly whole right now." Samia frowned. "We are fighting a civil war against Deathwing, if… if you can call it that. There's so few of us it's a joke. Did you see Deathwing come last night?"

"In the storm?" Reenie tilted her head, looked to the sky. "I did. He was chasing another dragon."

"That would have been Nalice," said Samia. "My patron's daughter. Do you know what happened to her?"

"I thought I saw her go down in the Alterac foothills." Reenie shrugged. "We were watching. She can't have gone down far from Ravenholdt. Which would be bad news for her, the Black Prince is there."

Samia blinked. "Bad news? How?" Then, "Black Prince?"

"The Black Prince is the only pure dragon of the Black Dragonflight." Reenie laced her fingers together, the fishing rod loose against one palm. "Unfortunately for you, he wants to exterminate you."

Samia reeled. "What? Exterminate — but. Why?" She gaped at Reenie. "_Why?_"

Reenie shrugged. "He believes the Black Dragonflight is a blight upon Azeroth. I'm inclined to agree with him."

"We need him," said Samia. "He's the only one who can save us from Deathwing."

Reenie paused, and looked at her. "You mentioned Onyxia."

"Yes," said Samia. "She's the one leading us."

"She's supposed to be dead."

"She is. She just doesn't care that she's dead."

"Undead dragons?" Reenie pressed her lips together tightly, and Samia was reminded of Katrana Prestor, in Stormwind Keep, whenever she wanted to throttle a difficult noble or guard. "Fighting her own father? Why, does she want power?"

"She wants to purify us all," said Samia. "The humans killed her family. Her children and her brother and his children. They were massacred after she fled Stormwind, just before she died."

"Purify." Reenie curled a lip. "Right. I'm certain. Did you know she killed my family?"

Samia blinked. "She wasn't responsible for what happened to Carlos — "

"I mean the family I was born in," said Reenie. "The true Prestors. She killed them. Did she ever mention that?"

"No." Samia had to stop herself shuffling on the spot. "But it does not surprise me. You do look like her. She hated humans, once. Still does. But I think that hate, right now, is eclipsed by desperation. We're dying out. She knows her people's wellbeing is more important than her resentment. She knows it was hatred for humans that put us into this position, and she wants to fix her mistakes."

"Really." Reenie stared at her with a snort.

Titans, the woman looked as severe as Katrana Prestor did.

"Really," said Samia, quietly. "I need to find the Black Prince. He's at Ravenholdt, isn't he? The spirits told me."

Reenie crossed her arms. "Why did Carlos appear to you?"

"I…" Samia hunched over. "I suppose it was because I'm the only friendly shaman close enough. Maybe it's because I'd talked to him in Stormwind. How far are we from the Sludge Fields?"

"Not far," said Reenie. "Ravenholdt is well hidden. Would your spirits tell you where to find it?"

_Lie. Pretend you know. Don't admit weakness._ "No," she said, ignoring the voice. "I'm not a good enough shaman for that. I think the only reason I was able to hear Carlos at all was because he was so… upset."

Reenie squeezed her eye shut for a moment, and then reopened it. Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke. "I'll give you a deal, dragonspawn. You come with me and my people, you help us, and we will take you to Ravenholdt."

"I can go to Ravenholdt myself." But Carlos' pleas echoed in Samia's ears.

"Then perhaps you are not as good as you think you are." Reenie's eyebrows went up.

Samia hesitated only a moment. "Help you with what?"

Reenie turned northwards and pointed with her rod. "Liberate the Sludge Fields."

* * *

_**A/N:** Five or six chapters to go, and then it's over. Oh my._


	65. Hora's Revolution

**Chapter Twenty**

* * *

Onyxia screwed her eyes shut as she gripped the rests of her cold chair. She drew in a redundant breath, opening her eyes to the saronite around her. The ghostly sensation of burning still lingered.

"That is the second time I have died." Onyxia rose. "I hope I do not make a habit of it." She looked to Bolvar, slumped in his chair. "Samia didn't make it to the bridge. Surely?"

Bolvar's eyes cracked open, dull in spite of their orange sheen. "She did."

"Surely she made it to the other side?"

"She didn't."

Onyxia closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She stayed there for a long moment. "So now Samia is gone." She drew in another breath. "And Deathwing's closed in on Nalice." She opened her eyes, lowering her arm. "Great. If Nalice isn't dead now, she will be in moments, and if Samia does not drown the whelpling certainly will. Could things get any — " she paused. "Yes. They will. Things _always_ get worse."

Onyxia pressed her lips tightly together. _Eduard. Where are you?_

_Lady_, said Eduard. _The bad weather has not yet broken in Tirisfal. Although I managed to set out, my bat and I were forced to take shelter in a cave. When the weather passes, we will depart again. What happened, lady? I sensed fire from the link._

_My puppet body burned to death, Samia and the whelpling are missing, and Nalice is probably dead_, said Onyxia. _I need you to stick to the plan. We'll need you to determine whether Nalice is dead or if Deathwing captured her._ She had to be alive. She _had_ to. She was Sabellian's daughter, she was the most stubborn dragon Onyxia had ever met, she _had_ to be alive.

They needed her.

_It could take a long time to find a body, my lady_.Eduard's reluctance and scepticism came over the link.

"He's right," rumbled Bolvar. "Right now the hatchling's a priority. If it's the Heir, we need it alive."

"If it's the Heir, I'm certain the Bronzes thought of it," said Onyxia. "We must trust them. We must leave them to whatever fate the Bronzes inflicted on them and find Nalice." She ran a hand through her hair. _Eduard, when you get to the Sludge Fields, await me there for further orders._

Eduard sighed. _As you wish, Lady, but do not hope too much._

_Ambassador_, Onyxia went on. _Did you find Sabellian?_

_I did_, said the Ambassador. _Come._

Onyxia sat down, and closed her eyes again.

The Ambassador sat camped half up a tree in Sholazar, far above the drakes below, half lost in the canopy of leaves. _I have a good view_, he said as Onyxia slipped into his skin. _Careful. Don't let us fall._

Onyxia surveyed their surroundings. Up ahead, in an open clearing, she caught glimpses of cultists miling about, carrying their crystal totems. But beneath them, in the forest, she saw the occasional glimmer of red scales, the rustle of a bush…

_The Reds have to be careful_, said the Ambassador. _The humidity makes it easier for their scent to be caught — for mine to be caught. But up here, I do not believe they will see us._

_What are those black things?_ Onyxia looked down. Here and there, she thought she saw something black and twisting, like a cross between a portal and a tear. She tilted her head, but it didn't seem to move. It shimmered slightly.

_I do not know_, said the Ambassador. _Those appeared only a few minutes ago. It's almost as if the cultists expected them to appear, while at the same time being surprised by their presence._

_Perhaps they expected them, but they did not know when?_ Onyxia frowned. _That suggests they did not bring them about. Something else did. What about Sabel, where is he?_

_He is in the clearing_, said the Ambassador. _Seldarria is also there. The Reds are preparing for an attack. I believe they are in the middle of cutting communications to the other camps. Sabellian is the one they want. Seldarria appears to be aware of them but does nothing._

_We need to get Sabellian out of there_, said Onyxia.

_And how_, said the Ambassador slowly, _do you propose on doing that?_

_We'll get him out during the attack. Or — _

_Onyxia_, said the Ambassador. _There is nothing we can do to save Sabellian, we're in the midst of enemies._

_We need to get him out!_

_There is nothing you can do_, said the Ambassador. _Nalice is gone, Sabellian is out of your reach. You are scrabbling at straws. We are losing. _

Onyxia stopped.

She was aware of her claws on the bark, of the mana that pulsed beneath the earth. In the Ambassador's body, she was so attuned to magic, but it was the fartherest thing from her mind.

_We are losing_, said the Ambassador again. _I was at Naxxramas. The Scourge were doing better than you are and we still lost._

Onyxia straightened, careful not to fall off the branch. _We have been losing this war for years. And yet, we are still alive._

_Serinar isn't_, said the Ambassador. _Nalice isn't, not anymore._

_Nalice may be alive._

_You cannot honestly believe Nalice escaped the World Destroyer._ The Ambassador sneered. _Sabellian is also captured and Samia and the whelpling washed away down a river! And now my master is on the brink of succumbing to insanity once and for all. The Old Gods' screams have only grown louder. He is weakening._

Onyxia pressed her lips together. She peered through the leaves.

She thought, far away, she caught a glimpse of a man in orange robes picking herbs.

Her anger flared quickly. _Then what do you suggest we do?_ She clenched her fist._ Do you want us to give up hope like a bunch of weaklings just because we cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel, to simply sit down and cry and wait for the storm to pass as if it wasn't hunting us? You miserable coward!_

The Ambassador didn't answer. Onyxia suppressed a low hiss, too aware of the Reds beneath them.

_You disgusting coward_, she hissed. _This isn't over. How dare you suggest otherwise?_

The Ambassador was silent as she surveyed the trees.

_It has been_, he said at last,_ a long fight._

_I know that more than you do._ She crouched down lower, peering through the trees. _I was there in Stormwind, not you. I was the one who watched the Brotherhood of Cinders wipe out our kind. We die and we die and we die, but giving up will not stop that._ She straightened. _We need to keep close to Sabellian_._ Watch him. If he escapes — help him. If he is captured by the Reds, surrender and go with him. If the Reds attempt to kill him, you protect him at the cost of your own life._

The Ambassador flinched.

_You are dead_, said Onyxia. _You are expendable. You can be brought back. I can be brought back. But once the flame of life goes out no amount of necromancy will replace it. We need all the living dragons we can get to rebuild our race._

For a long moment, the Ambassador didn't answer.

_I expect this is what working with Katrana Prestor must have been like_, he said, and spoke no more.

-o-O-o

Midmorning, the morning after the storm. Roughly twenty four hours left until whatever end Nozdormu had prophesied. Dawn would come in Northrend tomorrow in the late morning. And with it, it would bring — the end of what? The Obsidian Dawn? The Red Dragonflight? Everything?

_The paradox will be closed._

What paradox? A paradox, by its nature, involved the past. A boy began to drown and changed the past forever; it influenced a Bronze dragon. Somehow. That Bronze dragon's hope ignited a new vision, a vision which she showed Nozdormu…

A vision of what, exactly? Was it this vision that Chromie would speak of when she came?

And down in the valley, annoyingly, Nalice was still not dead. The damn woman was as stubborn as her father. Deathwing had chased her across an entire continent, an ocean and half of Lordaeron, and simply shot her down and _left_. No attempt to capture her, no double checking the corpse was actually a corpse. Surely the Old Gods _knew_ Nalice was alive.

But evidently those pillars Seldarria mentioned were more important than Nalice's life or lack thereof; something about them meant Deathwing had to get back to Northrend, and quickly, Nalice be damned.

And the siege…

In the sodden, but clear morning after the storm, Wrathion sat in the same patch of grass he had the night before. The relieved rogues had emerged at dawn and, at his request, set up a small table and chair for him, and brought him tea.

A gentle breeze picked up, the first in the still morning. Wrathion sipped his tea. The view of Hillsbrad stretched out in front of him, infinite.

Of course, the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that half of it had been set on fire the night before, and that the portion of it that was left was overshadowed by a thin, black tear in the middle of the air that stretched from the ground up at least eight feet, about ten yards in front of Wrathion. Wrathion had spent half the night mentally walking Azeroth; those bloody tears had opened up all over the planet.

_All because a boy began to drown_. Wrathion's teacup clinked against its saucer as he set it down. Even now, he could feel Samia Inkling walking beside Katrina Hackett, a whimpering Melanian walking beside her, clutching his head and whining about a headache. Even now, he still could not enter Melanian's mind. _Why is the decoy so important?_

Melanian could heal. He was his grandfather's son, indeed. Corruption and purification had nothing to do with healing, but… how many other Black dragons could heal? Only one Melanian knew of; Sabellian, a shaman. A natural born shaman, from what he'd heard, too. A shaman powerful enough he'd blocked his mind from the earth, severing Wrathion's only connection to him. Undoubtedly Melanian had inherited his grandfather's abilities. Hadn't he summoned an elemental that one time?

Wrathion snorted into his cup. Pure or not, Wrathion wasn't the one with shamanistic blood, he wasn't the one capable of speaking to the elements or healing. True, he could hear them if he focused, but it sounded as if his connection to them was weak at best. Perhaps he did have a little shamanism in his blood, but not nearly enough to give him an advantage over his rival. _Ah, but does my rival have omniscience? I think not._

Seldarria had said the boy was evil. Onyxia had hinted at it, with her explanation of the development of whelplings to Bolvar Fordragon. It explained a lot about Wrathion's own repulsion towards his species. But then, it raised more questions, too.

Did he want his species dead because they were evil, or because he was alone?

He snorted again, and glared at his cup of tea. He should have asked for brandy.

A thought niggled at the back of his head. If he wanted his species dead, what would Melanian want when he was older? The deaths of everything?

_The paradox will be closed_, Nozdormu had said.

_The decoy is evil_, Seldarria had said.

Last night, Deathwing had hovered above Hillsbrad and looked Wrathion in the eye.

… Could it be that Melanian was Deathwing? Was it possible? Could it be he was the heir not of present-day Azeroth, but of the Azeroth of old? Was it his near-drowning would cause him to grow up to resist the Old Gods… somehow? The past had changed. But then, the Old Gods were still here.

_And Deathwing had flown away._

Melanian almost drowned and gave a Bronze dragon hope. Melanian's near-drowning had changed the past. How? Did Wrathion remember the true past, or had it changed before Melanian had almost drowned? Or had it changed in order to let Melanian almost drown and change it? A paradox, by definition, had to enable itself. Like a four-sided staircase going forever upwards, it had a past leading up to it but also a future that led to that past.

Hmph. Paradoxes.

His head hurt.

Speaking of hurt — Nalice's aches and pains persisted behind his consciousness. His own body hurt just listening to her. If she'd fallen out of the sky anywhere else he could ignore it, but here, she was too close, and too loud…

Wrathion straightened the white tablecloth in the wind.

It was a problem; Nalice was injured badly enough to not be able to move unless help found her, but she wasn't injured badly enough to die any time soon short of starving to death or succumbing to infection. She'd even avoided shock. It could take a week or longer before infection finally killed her. She had been burned badly by the fireball that had finally taken her out of the sky, and she had scratches and cuts all over her from her crash landing in the trees.

Hmm.

_So,_ he said. _Seldarria. Siege? How interesting. Wyrmrest Temple? How ambitious._

_Ah_. Seldarria's consciousness gently bumped his own. _The prodigal son returns! How are you, Wrathion?_

_Annoyed and curious. _Wrathion sipped his tea. _You must be aware Nalice is dying, yes? She is a difficult one, you may as well catch her while she's weak._

_Nalice is all bark and no bite_, said Seldarria. _I am more than aware of her predicament. We shall return to collect her, she shall not die any time soon._

Unless Wrathion helped her along. Hmm. It may come to that.

_Are you aware my counterpart is currently in Hillsbrad?_ said Wrathion. _The Old Gods must be telling you of that, surely. And I am being searched out by your enemies._

_You are both children_, said Seldarria. _Neither of you are a threat._

_And yet_, said Wrathion, _Nozdormu seems to disagree. Did the Old Gods hear what he spoke of through Alexstrasza's ears, as I did? The end is coming._

_He is wrong_, said Seldarria.

_And those pylons of yours are ready to be attuned to make a Lesser Dragon Soul_, said Wrathion. _Ah. Things are about to get very interesting indeed._

Seldarria sounded surprised. _And how did you guess? Not even the acolytes or Sabellian know their true purpose here._

_Bolvar deduced it, and told Onyxia_, said Wrathion, _The question is, how do you plan on attuning the Glimmering Pillar? You need a pure member of the Black Dragonflight to restore it from its corruption, and I am over here. What a shame that Deathwing left me behind._

_We have a backup plan_, said Seldarria.

_So your pylons are now attuned and that leaves... What?_ Wrathion took another sip of his tea. It was going cold. _The final assault. It's clever of you_. Wrathion drained his cup, and turned it upside down in the saucer. _For all his omniscience, Bolvar Fordragon did not notice your armies gathering. The Old Gods are louder in his head than ever, and them, combined with Onyxia, have distracted him from his Scourge spies. If the Old Gods were not so loud as of late, he would have seen the camps in the crags of the Dragonblight, would he have not?_

_I sense you have something smug to say_, said Seldarria.

_It is this_, said Wrathion. _The Reds are coming for you, Seldarria. They surround your camp. Lirastrasza may be corrupt, but not so corrupt she will not attempt to kill you. Perhaps she'll even succeed._

_That has been anticipated and prepared for_, said Seldarria. _My masters are not worried. In fact, we depend on it. It leaves the way clear for Onyxia without arousing suspicion._

_Wait,_ said Wrathion. _"Leaves the way clear?"_

Seldarria said nothing.

_That's why Deathwing left suddenly_. Wrathion gripped the arm rests of his chair. _That's what you're doing. You're laying a trap for the Obsidian Dawn!_

_They don't need you Wrathion_, said Seldarria. _Nor do they need the little half-drowned whelp. They need something else for the pillar. And when they have it, they will go straight to Sholazar to claim the Lesser Dragon Soul for their own…_

_And Deathwing will be waiting_. Wrathion sucked in his breath, relaxing. _And this time, there will be no elementals slowing his return to Northrend — he'll be there before… before dawn. Before the end. Clever. But not clever enough._ _If Bolvar Fordragon, for all his omniscience, can fail to notice the Old Gods prepare for a siege on Wyrmrest Temple, then the same can be said of the Old Gods. Nozdormu is here, Seldarria, and the Reds are preparing for Chromie's arrival._

_And?_ said Seldarria.

_Nobody can see into the mind of a Bronze Dragon, because they are always out of time._ Wrathion smiled, and turned his cup upwards. _No matter how much the Old Gods know, the Bronze Dragonflight will always know more. If the Obsidian Dawn falls into your trap, it will only be because the Bronzes allowed it, and if they allow it it will be because it failed._

Through the link, he felt a brief flash of frustration, and his smile grew to show his teeth.

_The Obsidian Dragonflight may fight against gods_, he said,_ but the Old Gods are not the only gods out there. The Bronze Dragonflight have the freedom to move around and travel through time, restricted only by their own free will._ Wrathion looked inside the cup. _Tell me, Seldarria, do you believe in fortune telling?_

_I believe in visions_, said Seldarria. _But not primitive tea leaf readings._

_I do_, said Wrathion. _And in my tea cup I see a ray of light being shed over everything. Revelations. Do you know what that means?_

He straightened up and looked to the south, where Dun Morogh's mountains peeked over the horizon. In the background, he still felt Nalice's pain.

_It means_, said Wrathion, _that Chromie has arrived._

-o-O-o-

Katrina Hackett had spoken of retaking the Sludge Fields as if she had an army at her disposal, but as she led Samia into a tight copse of trees overlooking the settlement, Samia counted, at the most, a dozen rogues, all of them unhappy and all of them hungry. Melanian whined, flopping down on the ground as soon as the leaves obscured them from prying eyes, and clutched his head.

The lot of them camped in a natural hollow in the earth, underneath a tree with wide branches but thick leaves, twined together on the outside like a hedge. Past the first layer of leaves, there was nothing but bare branches, making the place a peaceful retreat. A few rogues perched in the trees. Others squatted over a carefully-made campfire. All of them looked up as they entered.

A few eyes wandered to Samia, but their priority was made clear when one asked, "Did you scavenge anything?"

"I had to go far, Michael." Katrina Hackett set down her rod and basket. "Fish."

"This was a stupid idea," said one of the women. Looking at her, Samia had the feeling her ratty hair had once been auburn curls. "We've got no food, no support, and we're a long way from any settlement."

"There's always the Arathi Highlands," said Michael, but he looked depressed.

"I was planning on marching back to Ravenholdt afterwards," said Katrina. She took a single fish from the basket and offered it to Melanian, who fumbled at it, before shoving the basket towards Michael. Michael snatched it up and squatted by the fire. "Wrathion can take us in whether he likes us or not. Our colleagues may be pressed into rejecting his orders."

"Who's the random kid?" said the woman. "Is he a Sludge Fields victim? He looks like hell."

"He's, uh," said Michael. "… Naked."

"No," said Samia. "He's a dragon whelpling. His name is Melanian."

"Huh, I didn't know they shape shifted that young."

"They usually don't, but he's been around me since his birth, so I suppose he wanted to copy me."

"And who are _you_?" The woman arched her eyebrows.

"That's Elizabeth," said Katrina helpfully. "One of our poison experts."

"I am Samia," said Samia. "I am a dragonspawn. I am looking for the Black Prince. He is…" She looked to Katrina, remembering her words. "He was supposed to be our saviour from Deathwing. I was charged to seek him out."

Elizabeth snorted. "Wow."

"Why did you bring her here?" Another rogue said from one of the branches above them, legs dangling. He was a blond.

"A dragonspawn can come in useful, Travis," said Katrina, arching an eyebrow at Samia. "She can see in the dark. Dragonspawn also have good senses of smell."

… Except Samia's sense of smell had been obliterated by the Dragonbane. _Oops. Better not mention that._ "I'm a shaman too?" she said, sounding less confident than she meant to.

The rogues did not look impressed.

"So we're doing it tonight, then," said Travis.

"We cannot delay any longer," said Katrina.

Elizabeth snorted. "What's the plan?"

"We do this after dark." Reenie gestured for others to come closer. Melanian shuffled back to allow room.

"Forsaken don't sleep," Elizabeth pointed out.

"But a lot of them have bad vision," said the rogue named Michael. "It'll be even worse at night."

"They have spotlights," said Elizabeth.

"That'll make their vision even worse," said Samia. "Because of the bright lights."

"Do we really want a dragonspawn helping us?" said Travis.

Reenie shook her head, but she said, "We need all the help we can get. Our priority is getting the prisoners out alive. And there's going to be a lot of them. She's a shaman and the whelpling knows a little magic, we need healers."

Melanian raised his fish to his mouth, but it slipped out of his hands.

He picked it up. He dropped it again. Only then did Samia realise his hands were shaking.

It triggered a memory. A vague memory. Sabellian had said something, a long time ago. What had it been? When had he even said it? The memory brought with it the smell of mud and rain, a feeling of heat, a brief flicker of Amandine's tiny face and of Leonardo Withering's disapproving frown. The sound of tinkling glass.

Sabellian had said something…

"Is he alright?" Elizabeth's words jerked her back into the present.

"He's…" Samia wrung her hands. "Ill. He's been ill since he hatched. But we almost drowned earlier, because we fell in the river, and he's been worse ever since."

"It takes time to recover from something like that," said Michael. "Sometimes people who nearly drown are never the same again. Does something to their heads, y'see. I knew a kind fisherman who turned into a real dick after he almost drowned. Couldn't tie his flies again after, either."

But it did not soothe Samia's dread. What if there was something horribly wrong? She watched as Wrathion picked up the fish. His grip was clumsy, but this time he took a bite out of the flesh with little trouble.

"Fine," said Elizabeth. "So, we attack at night. What else? I suppose you're going to say we sneak in the back door?"

"They won't expect an attack," said Samia. "They have those spotlights, but I doubt they'd really be using them. There must be blind spots all over the walls. There'll be a gap there, somewhere."

"Michael. Tora." Reenie looked to Michael and another woman by the fire. "Go scout the walls, make notes of whatever entrances you can find, and keep watch on the guards. We'll join you tonight. Travis, you take over cooking duty."

Both bowed, and left. Travis grumbled as he squatted by the fire, muttering, "Dammit, I'm an alchemist, not a cook."

Samia sat down on a wide bough as a woman named Mia spoke. "We need more time than this. We need to get the hang of the guards' habits, we need to learn it inside and out, we need time — "

"The victims don't have time," said Reenie. "They're dying. This girl — " she pointed at Samia. "She says she's a shaman. She can help. We have one opportunity to get this right. We'll use whatever intel Tora and Michael can get us, and we'll drive the guards insane. We're all rogues. We don't need numbers."

"She's not a rogue," said Mia.

"I was, once," said Samia. "I can be just as sneaky as you can be."

"You're still not trained by Ravenholdt."

"Neither was I, until recently," said Reenie. "We make do with what we've got."

"This is such a stupid idea," said Elizabeth. "We're all going to get killed."

"How many prisoners are there going to be?" said another man, introduced as Andrew. "There must be dozens. Maybe even hundreds. How can we liberate them all?"

"It may be that this takes place over several days," said Samia. "We sneak in and pick off the guards one by one, and don't go near the prisoners until we're sure they're all dead. We start with key figures. We'll target their communication so they can't call for help. So that'll mean we'll want to kill mages first so they don't open portals, then raven keepers, then stable masters, and we eliminate all their transportation." Samia laced her fingers together. Reenie looked impressed. "We need to do this strategically. We gather intel on the place, identify those figures and attack them all in the first wave. By the time that's done, the rest will be panicking, especially as, with luck, nobody will have seen us yet. By then their leaders will be likely to be sending out riders to get reinforcements from Tarren Mill, or at least pass on the news, so we'll have to make sure everything in the stable is gone. We won't have the numbers to lay an ambush for those people and with the prisoners we won't get out fast enough, so I suggest we send out a force now to lay some traps ahead of time. And then we'll need to move in again and take out the leaders. They'll have better security, by then, and the spotlights will be used to their full capacity, so I suggest we sabotage them while we take out the communicators."

As Samia finished, she realised everyone was staring at her.

She blushed. "What?"

"You did this as a rogue?" said Elizabeth.

"Well, no," said Samia. "I was just a street rogue. But I was tutored by a dragon who had to think about these things all the time. He often had to fight for his survival and…" she wrung her hands. "Uh. Yeah."

Would she ever see Sabel again?

"Dragons," said Reenie, bemused. "She's right, though. Now, for phase two, may I suggest…"

Samia smiled as the others began to speak and throw in suggestions, too.

It faded as she turned to look at Melanian. He sat with the half-eaten fish in his lap, staring into space.

Samia quietly approached him. "What's wrong?"

"Screaming at me," Melanian mumbled.

"Screaming?" Samia's heart felt as if it stopped. "What's screaming?"

"Everything," said Melanian.

_If he is not the Black Prince_, thought Samia. _Then this means he is the decoy, and if he is the decoy, then that means he can hear…_

She felt cold, all of a sudden.

Hugging herself, she returned to the group of rogues, chatting obliviously as Melanian watched in misery.

-o-O-o-

Long after dark, the Reds attacked.

Onyxia and the Ambassador moved across the branches, ignored by the chaos below, to get a better view. The Reds swept into the camp, shattering carved totems and carrying off cultists.

_Where's Seldarria?_ Onyxia peered into the gloom.

_She's gone_, said the Ambassador. _She left her cultists to die. There isn't a Twilight drake in sight, and the place was swarming with them earlier._

The cultists didn't stand a chance. Some fled into the undergrowth, pursued by spell bolts and streams of fire. Others were disembowled by claws or had limbs ripped off by teeth. One almost drowned in the mud underneath the massive claws of a larger drake. Onyxia tightened her grip on the branch they stood on. _Where's Sabel?_

_I can't see him either_, said the Ambassador.

_Could Seldarria have taken him with her?_

Their question was answered when one of the drakes upturned a table and pulled out a rather baffled looking, muddy Sabellian, blinking at his captors. All around them, the battle ceased. Cultists either froze, or fled into the trees. The ones that fled, this time, were not pursued.

Sabellian quietly brushed off his robes and sighed as he only made the mess worse.

"Sabellian." Lirastrasza reassumed her mortal form and walked towards him. "It will be good to kill you at last."

Sabellian sighed. "Why me? I thought you were after my daughter."

"No." One of the drakes transformed into a human. "Leave him. Nozdormu wanted him alive."

"Nobody ever mentioned this to me, Kaz!" Lirastrasza rounded on him. "What has Nozdormu got to do with this? You never spoke of it!"

"I…" Kaz faltered. "Nozdormu just said to bring him in when the time comes. To bring him to the Dragonqueen. And the other one."

"Search the camp," Lira barked to another drake. She glowered at Sabellian, then scanned the camp. "_What_ other one?"

_I hate Bronzes_, said the Ambassador.

"I suspect," said Onyxia aloud, "that would be me."

The drakes jumped. Lirastrasza tilted her head up. "Ambassador," a slow smirk made its way across her face. "What an intriguing coincidence!"

Kaz blinked. "I had the impression the other one would be Onyxia…"

"I am Onyxia," said Onyxia. "Merely wearing another face."

"Get down from there," said Lirastrasza.

_How strong are your bones?_ said Onyxia.

The Ambassador was not amused. _Strong enough. I may be dead, but I am a dragon. Are you certain this is a good —_

Onyxia dropped from the branch and landed heavily in the mud, almost falling over. She'd no sooner righted herself than Lirastrasza grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against a tree. Onyxia rose her claws in reflex, but lowered them again deliberately.

"Where," said Lirastrasza, "is your real body?"

"Sure, just let me tell you as if you are not my enemy — " Onyxia's words were cut off as Lirastrasza leaned on her throat.

"Just bring her in as is," said Kaz.

"You are _not_ my superior." Lira glared over her shoulder.

"The Dragonqueen gave me the right to override your orders, remember? Let her go."

Snarling, Lira let go. Onyxia coughed and gagged as Lirastrasza stepped away.

_Thanks for that, by the way_, said the Ambassador. _That hurts._

_I can tell._ Onyxia straightened up just in time for two drakes to seize her arms.

"Onyxia?" Sabellian blinked at her. "You can possess the dead now? Interesting. Tell Bolvar I said hello."

Only then did Onyxia realise Bolvar hadn't spoken all day.

"Bind her," said Lirastrasza. "Bind them both. Their arms — "

A shriek resounded through the trees. One of the drakes growled and raised his arms as a black whelp slashed at them.

Onyxia grinned. _Jettion!_

"And bring the brat, as well," said Lirastrasza. A few drakes pinned Jettion to the ground and secure a rope around his snout. He growled.

_It's going to be a long night_, said the Ambassador.

-o-O-o-

Wrathion spent the rest of the morning staring into his empty teacup, mulling over the events of the night before. When the sun crested the sky, he retreated into the manor. He engaged in some small talk with Lord Ravenholdt, who seemed to be most fascinated with Wrathion's opinions on the arrangement of potted plants outside some idiot's window. He ordered Fahrad to double the guard; if Katrina Hackett made it back with her army of prisoners, they would be sorely disappointed by their reception, no matter how much mind control magic Wrathion would have to use. As the sun set, he sat on a wall and watched children play among the poison plants.

A veil of stars appeared and brought the night with them.

And still, Nalice lay dying.

Her pain continued to radiate, battering Wrathion like the waves of a persistent headache.

The night wore on. Wrathion went to bed. Sometime around midnight as he lay awake in his bed, he wandered Azeroth and found the Reds binding Sabellian and the Ambassador — no, _Onyxia_ — like dead prey animals and slung them over the backs of a couple of drakes. Jettion gnawed through his bonds and escaped without too much incident.

The night wore on. Nalice still did not die. For every scratch on her body Wrathion felt a phantom one on his, felt her weakness permeate him no matter how much he tried to shut her out.

It was a couple of hours from dawn — not Nozdormu's dawn, but the Hillsbrad dawn, far earlier than Northrend's — that Wrathion finally threw his covers aside. He yanked his clothes over his shoulders. Took his turban from where it had been drying on the back of a chair, and wrapped it around his head. Pulled on his boots.

He descended the twisting staircase to open Fahrad's door.

Fahrad sat at a simple wooden table in his room, a single candle burned half to the base in front of him, casting orange light over his face. He blinked at Wrathion as he entered.

"Wake your best rogues." Wrathion gripped the door frame. "There is a dragon nearby that needs to be put down."

-o-O-o-

The convoy of Red drakes stopped on top of a Wintergrasp mountain, just above the Obsidian Dragonshrine. Murmurs went through. Tied to a drake's back, Onyxia stared into the sky.

_At least you can retreat to your own body_, said the Ambassador. _I am bored witless. And frozen solid. I cannot feel my legs._

Another drake landed beside them, narrowly avoiding a black tear. Sabellian blinked at Onyxia from its back. "Why have we stopped?"

"What I want to know is," said Onyxia, "why didn't you fight back?"

"What? Why would I?"

"You're a shaman, you should have set all your elementals on them."

"Hmph. I don't know how much damage I would have done — "

"I do not care, damage is the _point_ — "

"What I mean to say is, panicking is not a good response to anything." Sabellian squirmed in his bonds, a saronite collar around his neck. His drake ignored him. "I once wiped out a village by accident when a vrykul snuck up on me as a joke eight thousand years ago. Not a good idea. I was going to wait to see what happened first and take advantage, but of course, you had to show up and ruin that. Thank you, my dearest sister, now I cannot do anything for fear that the drakes will do something regrettable to the Ambassador."

"I am grateful that you thought of me," said the Ambassador aloud before Onyxia could clamp his mouth shut. "Because this was _not_ my idea."

"But apparently it was supposed to happen," added Onyxia.

"Ugh," said Sabellian. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Talk to each other aloud. It is _weird_."

"You find the changing accents disconcerting?"

"Shut up!" said one of the drakes.

"We have a problem," said Lirastrasza.

"Care to enlighten us?" said Sabellian.

Onyxia rolled her eyes. "Sabel, you are not helping either of us."

"Any of us," said the Ambassador.

"Stop talking to yourself," said Sabel, craning his neck. "Oh. I see the problem."

"What?" Onyxia tried to turn but she could see nothing. "What is going on?"

"The Old Gods have come."

"There's a siege." Lirastrasza placed her mortal form between the two drakes. "There are several gaping mouths in the snow in the Dragonblight belonging to unimaginable eldritch creatures. Kaz — "

"I don't think the attack's begun yet," said Kaz. "They're just preparing. I think I can see Thrall down there — yes, he's just going into the bottom with the Brotherhood now. Looks like he made it back from his mission."

"What mission?" said Sabel innocently.

"Shut it." Lira shot him a look. She turned to Kaz. "We may have to make a dash for the temple."

"Aren't you worried they'll take us down from the sky?"

"There aren't enough enemies circling yet. This may be our only chance."

"Hm, you may be right. Then let's go for it."

"And make it quick," said Sabel. "Human forms are fragile and I'm cold up here. I haven't felt my nose in two hours. If hypothermia kills me I'll be sure to haunt you _all_."

"Still not helping," said Onyxia, and then her words were snatched away by the wind.

The drakes hurled themselves through the air, wings beating harder than ever on the night's currents. Enemy drakes and dragons called; Onyxia caught a glimpse of dark scales. _There are still Black drakes around_. The glimpse disappeared when the drake she was on rolled in the air, dropping her heart to her stomach.

Far away, she heard, "Let them in! Let them in!"

Her drake landed hard on the floor, sending what little air Onyxia had out of her lungs. Sabellian's landed beside her. A human drake appeared beside Onyxia and undid the knots on some of her bindings. She fell, still trussed like prey, onto the cold ground.

_Ouch_, said the Ambassador. _This is all your fault._

Sabel cried out, just as Onyxia heard a _crack_ and a thump.

"You're joking," said Lirastrasza. "Are your bones really that weak?"

"Oh, shut it. Help me sit up so I can heal it."

Onyxia looked up. All around them were other dragons, and mortals, standing in the top chamber of the temple.

_Oh dear_, said the Ambassador. _'Tis quite crowded._

The Dragonqueen appeared from between Nozdormu and — was that Chromie, down there on the ground, looking up at them with wide gnomish eyes? "Help him, Lirastrasza," said Alexstrasza.

Lirastrasza bit her tongue and knelt in front of Sabellian, removing his manacles. The collar stayed on his neck.

Another drake began to loosen Onyxia's bindings, but kept the manacles on. Onyxia watched as Sabel probed his right leg. Sabel's face twisted in a wince. "Not too bad." His hands glowed green. "A fracture." He held out his hands to Lirastrasza, who put the manacles back on.

"Really, Sabel?" Onyxia couldn't help but say as Lira yanked Sabel to his feet. "You're just going to ask to be restrained again?"

"Is there much of a choice?" said Sabel. "I haven't survived this long by not cooperating when control was taken from me."

Onyxia huffed. "We appear to have quite the audience. Hmm, I do believe that is a renowned Horde guild in the corner, I do remember them conducting an attack on Goldshire once… shame they didn't win. Oh, there's the Frostmoon Federation. A few familiar faces in there. And what's this?"

The crowd began to murmur and shuffle. It parted to allow several figures through; an orc with long dreadlocks and beads, followed by a handful of Alliance mercenaries.

They wore the tabard of the Brotherhood of Cinders. One, with his face half burned, met Onyxia's eye.

Her jaw slammed shut and she let out a hiss, baring her teeth. _Leonardo Withering, killer of children, murderer of Obsidian dragons everywhere._ Withering arched an eyebrow. Onyxia recognised Clarisse and a gnome behind him; the gnome had been present when Reginald Windsor had marched upon Stormwind Keep.

Killing Windsor had been satisfying.

But they were not the only Alliance mercs present. Onyxia recognised Lesliora, John the egg-carrier and Orrvin the night elf. A few other dragon diplomats dotted the crowd, mingling with Horde mercenaries and commanders. Wait, was that Ysera, standing there with her eyes open? Oh, that was not good news…

Something glimmered in the orc's hand. Onyxia's eyes seized upon it just in time for the orc to shove it in his shirt.

"It is good to see you have returned, Thrall," said Alexstrasza.

Onyxia blinked.

That was _Thrall?_

"Did you recover what we require?" said Alexstrasza.

"Indeed," said Thrall. "We had a small problem downstairs, but these adventurers… took care of it."

"Benedictus was a good man, once," said Leo darkly. At the sound of his voice, Onyxia felt Bolvar stir for the first time all day and night.

_Are you alright?_ She said.

Bolvar didn't answer.

_Sir?_ said the Ambassador. _Onyxia, perhaps you should let me take care of this and ensure the Lich King is alright — _

"It looks as if these prisoners require your attention." Thrall looked to them. "Ah, Ambassador, I recall you. And…" He looked to Sabellian. "You are?"

"A better shaman than you," said Sabellian.

"You must be Sabellian, then," said Thrall. "I have heard of your prowess. Perhaps when this war is over I may seek out your tutelage."

Nozdormu and Chromie exchanged glances. Chromie winced and looked away. Onyxia caught her muttering, "Oh, _Nalice_."

"Leonardo Withering!" said Onyxia. "It has been some time since I last saw you."

"Ambassador," said Leonardo Withering. "Would that we were meeting under better circumstances. I hear you've joined Deathwing. And an undead Onyxia."

"I am Onyxia," said Onyxia.

The crowd muttered.

_Please,_ said the Ambassador, _could you not?_

Leonardo Withering snorted. "I'm not amused."

"No, really, Leonardo," said Onyxia. "A friend of mine has granted me the power to possess some of the undead. The Ambassador included."

"That reminds me," said Sabel. "Have you any news of Nalice or Samia?"

"Oh yes, brother, why, let us have a casual conversation while we are imprisoned!"

"Ah, it's definitely you."

"Um," said Leonardo Withering. "Not to interrupt, but what the hell is going on?"

"It appears you have much to tell us, Sabellian." When Alexstrasza spoke, the buzz of the room went quiet. "I have captured you alive in the hopes you would extend to us the same kindness we have granted you in letting you live. We did not expect you to ever serve Deathwing."

"I was Seldarria's prisoner, actually," said Sabellian. He raised his wrists. "Could I have these removed, please? Feel free to keep the collar on, but I prefer to keep my hands free."

Alexstrasza gestured to Kaz. Lirastrasa scowled as Kaz removed both Sabellian's bonds. Kaz hesitated. Chromie waved a hand to catch his attention and pointed at Onyxia. Kaz sighed, and removed her manacles too. Chromie waved a hand again and pointed at her throat. Kaz shook his head.

"Do as she asks," said Alexstrasza.

Kaz and Lira exchanged dark looks, but Kaz removed Onyxia' and Sabel's collars.

"I was taken prisoner by a Twilight dragon named Seldarria," said Sabellian. "I was allowed to roam the camp, but no farther than that. I made no attempt to escape. I have learned over the years that one should not flee without a plan. It was convenient for your Red dragons to rescue me, although inconvenient that they bound me."

"And where does Onyxia come into this?" said Alexstrasza. "And the Lich King's betrayal?"

There were some gasps from the Brotherhood of Cinders. "The Lich King is dead!" said Clarisse, before Leonardo Withering hushed her and the gnome kicked her in the shin. "No, no, fuck this 'she's royalty so no one should ever hurt her precious feelings ever' shit, what the hell is this about the Lich King? The Lich King's dead!"

"I take it nobody told the Brotherhood of Cinders that Bolvar Fordragon is alive, either," said Onyxia. Bolvar rumbled behind her mind.

Leonardo Withering's eyes snapped to hers. "Don't lie to us, dragon."

"Actually, she's telling the truth," said Sabel. "Fordragon is alive and kicking. Slightly insane. Well, mostly insane, but alive. As a matter of fact, the Frostmoon Federation made him the new Lich King, and refused to tell anyone about it. Apparently the Reds knew all along, though. Nice of them to tell you."

John winced. Orrvin sighed and covered his eyes with a hand.

"I can confirm this." Lesliora shrugged. "I witnessed his ascension and he has kept in touch with me since."

"Lich King?" said Withering.

"Lich King?" said Clarisse.

"He's kept in touch?" said Orrvin.

"Did he send you letters or something?" said Clarisse. "Maybe a care package or two?"

"This is bullshit!" said Withering. "Bolvar would never do something like that! And what's this about betrayal?"

"Bolvar decided to give us his assistance," said Onyxia. She rose her voice. "The Red Dragonflight wants to exterminate the entire Black Dragonflight, once and for all, whether we fight with Deathwing or against him."

Ysera and Thrall frowned. Nozdormu stared into the distance, bored. Chromie tilted her head and watched. The Horde guild clustered in the back muttered among themselves, with Forsaken and blood elves rapidly translating to Orcish.

"We know better than to fall for your tricks," said Lirastrasza.

"Bolvar fights with us because he does not believe in genocide." Onyxia looked to Leonardo Withering, his face contorted with rage. "You know him, Withering. You know he would stand against that. He fights with us because it's the right thing to do, and you know that in spite of his grudge against dragons, in spite of his hatred for us, he would never, ever stand for the persecution of the innocent."

"You?" Lira hooted. "_Innocent_?"

"Oh!" said Clarisse. "That's a good one. I was the one who retrieved the family tree of the real Prestors, by the way! I was there when the sister of the real Katrana Prestor described how her sister had been murdered by your kind, along with her father and brother!"

"Do you think he'd help me if he didn't think it was the right thing to do?" Onyxia held Withering's eye. "I have done evil things, I will not deny it, and it has all been in the name of the Black Dragonflight. I don't want the Black Dragonflight to die, Withering. Once upon a time, humans threatened us and your guild helped drive us to the edge of extinction, and now it's Deathwing who threatens us. He will kill us all, he cannot win this and we all know it. He is nothing more than a puppet of the Old Gods — the same Old Gods who taint the other Dragonflights now!"

"Liar!" Lira was screaming, now. "You lying little — "

"I want Deathwing to die so the rest of us can get out of his shadow!" Onyxia clenched her fists. "So the rest of us can finally live in something resembling peace and rebuild, properly, this time."

"Rebuild?" said Lira. "There's no Black Dragonflight left, Onyxia!" She stepped into the middle of the chamber, raised her hands as if to beckon to the entire room. "You are all dying out. Everyone in your Flight who isn't in hiding like a coward is Twilight, now, or out there circling this Temple, ready to attack. Nalice is the last breeding female of your kind. Even if you survived this, even if, by some miracle, you won — there will be no rebuilding. You don't have the genetic diversity to rebuild your race. Even if we don't hunt you, Onyxia, you will die out."

"That's not going to stop me." Onyxia raised her chin and looked Lirastrasza dead in the eye. "Nothing will stop me from giving everything I have to save them. We may die out one day anyway, the entire world may hunt us, but by the Titans, I will not stop fighting until everything that is left is either dead or saved. Even if all that remains of the Black Dragonflight when this fight is done is a single whelp, I will give that whelp a future!"

The room erupted into mutters and murmurs again. Alexstrasza looked around. Thrall watched in silence, a studious frown on his face.

Nozdormu looked at Onyxia.

He smiled.

Alexstrasza opened her mouth.

"I know," said Chromie. "That's why I chose you to save them."

The room went quiet. The little gnome-shaped Bronze walked into the centre of the room, plaits coiled on either side of her head. She had a small, silver staff in one hand. When she looked up at Onyxia, her smile glowed. Her eyes shone with tears. She took a deep breath.

"Chromie," said Onyxia. "Hora."

"Hora," said Chromie. "I remember when you called me that, back at the beginning. That was the name of my younger self, the one who started all this. I am much older than her... Though perhaps not much wiser."

"Chromie," said Alexstrasza. "We have been waiting for this. Now that the… guests you insisted upon are present, is it now time?"

Chromie did not answer for a moment, looking around the room. She looked at Leonardo Withering, with his burnt face. At Thrall with a soft frown, causing Nozdormu to shake his head sadly. She looked at Sabel, and smiled at him.

Then she looked to Alexstrasza, and then to Onyxia.

Chromie took a deep breath.

"Yes," she said. "It's time I told you everything."


	66. The Heir Apparent

_**A/N**: Whelp. This is it. I've had this chapter planned out in detail ever since we found out about Wrathion. Here goes!_

_**Warning**: Gore. And time travel headaches. Hopefully they're not as headachey and confusing in this chapter, but I couldn't find a beta so I may have to go back and edit for clarity._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty One**

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, in the dark before dawn, the rogues moved.

Melanian refused to stay behind, transforming into a whelpling and clinging to Samia's back. The rogues observed this with a frown, but were quickly distracted. As they made their way down to the Sludge Fields, more and more strange fractures appeared in the air. Some were blown open, black like spilled ink on a page. Others were hairline fractures, ranging from a foot long to well over ten yards. "Deathwing's magic," one of the rogues concluded, but others murmured among themselves and glanced at each other. "It must be."

"We can't stop now," said Katrina.

The night was silent, a stark contrast to the storm of water and fire the night before. The rain had washed away the clouds, leaving behind a field of stars, black against a moonless sky. Even the clouds to the north had completely vanished.

The Sludge Fields were lit up like a Winter's Veil tree, with white lights blaring at the ground. Most were unmoving. "You were right," Reenie murmured to Samia, "They're complacent. They don't expect attack from the outside. Once we're in, it'll be a different matter. See how many of the lights are pointed inside?"

"There must be some healthy prisoners left if they're expecting escape," said Samia.

"Or they're paranoid," said Mia.

"Or they caught Michael and Tora," said Elizabeth. "They never came back."

"They're waiting for us inside," said Travis. "They always do that."

"But they might have gotten caught."

"Quiet," said Reenie. "I don't doubt there's hunters and their pets in there, we'll have to be careful. You lot, scatter. All of you, make your way through the grass, dodge the lights, and stay separated. Having too many close together is too dangerous. Samia — " She looked to Samia, eyeing the whelpling on her back.

Katrina paused. The other rogues peeled away and towards the walls, vanishing into the night. Melanian's claws tightened.

"He's going to be a problem, isn't he?" said Katrina.

"I…" Conscious of Mel's claws digging into her back, Samia nodded. "I think if I tried to leave him behind, he would only follow me. If I go in with him, he could risk blowing our cover."

Katrina pressed her lips together, but nodded. "We'll have to do without your nose. I'll take you to an entrance so you know where we are, but once we're there, I need you to be on standby. We'll need both your healing abilities for the prisoners, if all goes well, but stay hidden and keep a good hold on him."

"I understand," said Samia.

She and Katrina weaved through the spotlights in stealth and made it to the main wall. They skirted it, pressed against the grey stone.

Eventually they found a that led hole underneath, as if dug by some hunter pet. Katrina wriggled under. Samia hesitated, then followed her.

The hole opened up in a tight alley behind some buildings.

Katrina nodded at Samia. "This looks like a safe enough place for you to wait."

"Hackett." A rogue peeled out of the darkness — Michael. He saluted. A few reappeared behind him, watching. "I've sent the others ahead."

"How was your scouting?"

"Successful. We were not detected." Michael frowned. "In the middle of the night a few undead came by, woke the mercs. Got a lot to leave. Just like that, in the middle of the night."

"Do you know where they're going?"

"Tora knows a little Orcish," said Michael. "She thinks she picked up the word for 'Deathwing' and 'Northrend.' Sounds like the mercs are going north again."

"So who's left?"

"A few mercs, but it's a skeleton crew tonight." Michael unravelled the map. "Most of the Dark Rangers are deployed to Tarren Mill, from what we worked out, but there's still a few here."

"Give it here." Katrina took the map. Samia's dragonspawn eyes made it easy for her to see the map of the Sludge Fields spread out on the ground, but the humans were straining to look at it. "Look,"said Katrina, gesturing to the Common letters that, arranged together, made unfamiliar words. "Gutterspeak. But it's similar enough to Common... see? You can decipher a bit of it. I'm pretty sure that word means 'stable'." She pointed. "There's also an inn there."

"The Forsaken, it turns out, don't keep going constantly," said Michael. "A lot of them like to meditate or take long walks at night. Tora and I went over this place so many times, we think we identified eight mages, four stable boys, several warriors and two bird keepers. The bird keepers are Dark Rangers, though, so that's bad news. This is going to be harder than we thought."

"What's your suggestion?" Reenie's eyes flicked to him. "Our plan is to cut off their communication first."

"They have a raven tower here." Michael jabbed the map. "The stable's over there."

"Alright. You two head to the raven tower — set the birds loose. The rest of us will head to the stables. We need to eliminate those undead horses, or else find a way to obstruct them." Reenie rubbed her hands together. "Come with me. Inkling, you stay here with the dragon. If anyone gets hurt, fall back here. If you get discovered and you can't get away, don't lead them to Samia. Now, those Dark Rangers…"

"Way ahead of you," said Michael. "Tora and I raided the lab. We made some sleep mixes and tainted the meat supplies. Only one or two animals haven't eaten the meat, or are immune to it. I think we raised some suspicions, though, the animals that didn't eat the meat seemed to be trained to detect these kinds of things."

"So there's a few more patrols around tonight," said Tora. "But nobody's terribly alarmed. Fingers crossed."

"What's your suggested route?" said Katrina.

"For the raven tower, here, here, then here. For the stables I suggest we go the long way around, since it's all in shadow."

"Right. This is the rendezvous point. Raven tower group, come back here when you're done, then we'll put the next phase into action. Stable group will join you after we're done. Any questions?"

Everyone was quiet.

"Good," said Reenie. "Let's move out. Stay in stealth at all times. Let's go."

The rogues faded into the darkness, leaving Samia behind, feeling exposed. She remained in stealth, crouched under the wall's comforting shadow. Melanian remained on her shoulder, still in the darkness.

The night should have been more silent, but beyond the buildings Samia heard everyday sounds; the meow of a cat, the trundling of a cart, footsteps against gravel. Day bled into night for the undead, whatever Michael said. If the rogues succeeded, this would be their last; the rogues had agreed there would be nothing for it but to destroy every member of the Horde inside the Sludge Fields.

But could the rogues pull it off? There could be up to a hundred Horde in here.

_We're rogues_. Samia hugged herself._ We don't need numbers, only stealth._

But most of their number were Southshore survivors, taken in after the Forsaken attack. They had only a little training. They were blacksmiths, like Mia, or alchemists, like Travis. Tora and Michael were the most well-trained of the lot.

Time passed.

After what felt like forever, bird calls cut through the sky. _Shit, I didn't realise the birds would be so loud_. Samia plucked Melanian from her back, took him tightly in her arms, and squeezed between a couple of buildings.

The buildings overlooked a kind of square. In it, she saw a couple of undead gesturing to each other and the raven tower. The ravens scattered. A couple flew in random directions and slammed into towers, sightless in the dark.

_We should have poisoned them instead_. Samia grit her jaw. _Now the undead are worried._

A Dark Ranger picked up her bow and headed towards the tower. Her pet was missing. An undead warrioress joined her, a massive, two-handed mace on her back.

_Where are the prisoners?_

Another undead appeared out of nowhere and hurried in the direction of the stables.

"Dammit," Samia muttered under her breath, clinging to Melanian. "This isn't good, this isn't good at all. What do we do?"

If it came to a direct confrontation, the rogues would lose. Their best hope was to stay in the shadows and pray.

_I shouldn't have done this. I should have gone directly to Ravenholdt for the Black Prince, damn the prisoners._

"We can't do anything." Samia shuffled back the way she'd come, away from the square, away from the light. "We have our orders. And I can't risk you causing trouble."

The alley was quiet, and lonely. No grass grew. There was only the mud and slush from the night before. To think, it had been an entire twenty four hours since they'd almost drowned. Samia shuddered and hugged Melanian closer.

An undead man cried out in the distance. There was silence. At one point, Samia thought she heard the _shing_ of a sword.

"Samia?" came Michael's voice, out of nowhere. "Are you here?"

"I'm here." Quickly looking around, Samia allowed the veil of stealth to slide away. Michael did the same, clutching his side.

"It's not too bad," said Michael with a whisper. "Tora and I almost got away from the Dark Ranger, but she saw me and her arrow grazed my side. It's going to need closing. Blood'll leave a trail."

"No problem." Samia put Melanian down. "I'm — not so good at healing, I could never grasp it properly, but I'll try…"

Melanian's form shimmered into a boy. "Help," he said, holding out his hands.

"Let him do it," said Samia.

"I'm glad Hackett brought you two along." Michael lifted his shirt. Samia caught a dark slash across his side. "It's not too bad," he said. "I wouldn't ask for healing at all but I spent the afternoon rolling in mud. I don't want an infection."

A shadow appeared behind Michael.

"Oh, shit," said Samia.

Michael whirled around.

An arrow thudded into his chest and the rogue went down. Behind him, a Dark Ranger pulled another arrow out of her quiver.

"Mel! Run!"

Mel shifted into a whelpling just as the arrow skimmed Samia's ear. Samia dashed back down the alley she'd come. Mel squawked as his wings grazed the opposite walls, and shifted back into a boy.

"Mel — " Samia glanced behind her.

The Dark Ranger appeared at the alley's mouth. She raised her bow —

A massive, rocky fist slammed into the side of her head, sending her flying out of sight. An earth elemental the size of a tauren appeared in her place.

"What the — " Samia looked to Mel. "There's no way nobody could have heard — "

In the square beyond, several faces turned towards their alley. Eyes roamed over the mouth, but they did not find Samia and Melanian, sheathed in darkness.

"Stay still," said Samia. "Stay quiet — "

"No!" Melanian squeaked in terror as an undead warily approached. "Go away!"

"Gods fucking _damn it_."

A couple of undead straightened up and surged for the alley.

"_No!_" Melanian screamed.

"Shut up and _fly away_!" Samia vanished into stealth, and stepped back. But the undead had already seen her; another Dark Ranger was already raising her bow.

Samia turned around, but Melanian quaked behind her, unmoving.

The last time Samia had been trapped between two walls, an enemy and a dragon, it had ended particularly badly.

_A memory washed over her, the smell of mud and rain, a feeling of her body on fire, Sabel's face. Snakes eating her sides. The sound of tinkling glass. He'd said something, he'd said something — what had he said? He'd said, "I've been — "_

Another arrow whizzed by her ear. Samia swore and sent out a stream of electric energy. A troll crumpled to the ground. The new Dark Ranger stepped over him.

"_No!"_ Melanian shifted into a whelpling and flew past Samia, shrieking. His jaws clamped around the Dark Ranger's neck. The Dark Ranger grit her teeth and tore him off, neck muscle and all, and tossed him aside. Melanian bounced off the ground and back into the air as if nothing had happened, went for her neck again —

An undead warrior lifted her two handed mace.

"_Melanian!_"

The mace arced through the air, and collided with Melanian's back leg.

Melanian's cry rended the air and struck Samia to her core as he fell to the ground in a flurry of wings.

The ground exploded.

A cacophony of sound threatened to deafen Samia. The ground disappeared from underneath her feet and dust obscured everything, jamming itself in her nostrils and down her throat, gritting up her watering eyes, as she fell face first into mud. The building beside her collapsed. Melanian screamed. A rock the side of Samia's foot landed an inch from her head. She rolled onto her back. Tiny pebbles rained on her from above.

She couldn't see the sky through the dust. With every breath in, she choked.

Melanian kept on screaming. Headlights cast beams of illumination through the slowly clearing dust and the chaos. An arrow bounced off a nearby stone. In the distance, Samia heard steel on steel, heard the yells of guards and someone sobbing. Something crunched beside her. Then the screaming started; screaming, everywhere, not just Melanian but a chorus of pain and suffering that accosted her on all sides. The ranger's head reappeared at Samia's feet, sans body, her skull half caved in, the eye that wasn't a mangled mess staring up at the dirt-shrouded sky in horror. Another disembodied head sailed past Samia's shoulder. Something exploded. Another building came down nearby with a rumbling crack, but Samia couldn't see it.

The dust began to clear, settling on her shoulders, but the chaos didn't stop. Through the thick gloom, Samia glimpsed massive shapes — shapes almost as big as dragons, shapes the size of cottages and houses — picking up undead and Horde alike, tossing them aside and ripping them apart. She felt, rather than saw, another lash out at three guards in front of it and send them flying out of sight.

Oh, _Titans_. "Mel! Mel, where are you?"

In front of her as the dust began to clear, through the gloom and the havoc and a beam of solid light, she saw Melanian in the form of a young boy, clutching his right leg and screaming.

-o-O-o-

The crater Nalice had made in the earth was quite impressive.

In the darkness, Wrathion found her huddled under some trees. They were cracked clean through the middles of their trunks, and their withered leaves sheltered her. The place stank of blood and burned dragon flesh. The crippled whelpling, the one named Katia, shrieked to herald his arrival and clawed herself up a tree.

"Kill it," said Wrathion.

Fahrad drew his bow and released. An arrow quivered in the wood as Katia scrambled safely into the leaves.

Nalice opened her eyes.

Cuts mangled the patterns of her scales, so numerous that shifting into a human would be far too risky. One broken wing hung uselessly off the bone. Blood gave her scales a macabre sheen. With Fahrad and rogues of Ravenholdt behind him, Wrathion approached her, but kept a wary distance. His rogues stood behind, watching.

"You're a dragon." Nalice's voice was quiet, thought Wrathion with surprise. Too quiet. She turned her head with a grunt so as to better view him. "I can smell it. And I sense..." She paused. "A lot of power. Could you be...?"

"My name is Wrathion. I am the Black Prince." Wrathion crossed his arms and lifted his chin. "Or Heir of Earth, as the Obsidian Dawn prefer to call me. I have come to put you out of your misery. You are dying, screaming — if not aloud. And I can't sleep."

"You… are?" Nalice blinked at him. She lowered her chin onto her forepaws. Closed her eyes.

Hmm.

"How pathetic," said Wrathion, quietly. "I thought you were stronger than this, Nalice."

"My prime consort is dead," said Nalice. "I was never strong at all to begin with, but it is only with his death that I understand that." Nalice inhaled deeply. "You're _both_ dragons." Fahrad stiffened. "I see someone got to the Heir first. Although, boy, your scent… hmm." Nalice glanced up into the tree, where Katia sat, hissing. "Then again — "

Wrathion snorted at Fahrad. "Don't waste your time, I already knew." He looked back to Nalice. "Now…"

"_This_ was a waste of time," said Nalice.

"What, me coming here?"

"No. Everything else." Nalice struggled to stand. She gave up, crumpling back down. "Corruption. Weakness. All of it. Nothing more than a farce. Now, boy, Black Prince…" She coughed. Wrathion scowled, gesturing to his rogues. They brought out their crossbows.

Nalice paused. Her eyes flicked between the rogues.

Then she said, "Why?"

"So the last ten thousand years can never happen again," said Wrathion.

"You were supposed to save us."

"Since when does the great Nalice need saving?"

"We all did, all along." Nalice's eyes narrowed as her bulk tensed. "If you say you're the Black Prince then — "

"I am not your puppet." Wrathion crossed his arms. "I am not going to save you. I am not _here_ to save you. My fate is my own."

Nalice hissed. "I wish I did not feel the same about myself, but I would be lying if I said I did not. I came here to seek you out — "

"You came here to flee Deathwing, Nalice."

"_And_ to seek you out," said Nalice. "You are the only hope that's left for us all. If you turn your back on us we have nothing left, boy. Nothing."

"You all deserve to die," said Wrathion. "For your sins, for your incompetence, for your weakness. You allowed yourselves to be corrupted, and now you seek to use me, as the Obsidian Dawn used _you_."

"Surely you can see how much we need you? Don't make me beg, boy. I have some pride left." Nalice's nostrils flared.

Wrathion was unfazed. "You seem to be doing just fine in spite of your corruption. You can fight it, apparently, so fight it. I don't care. You're going to die anyway. What am I supposed to do to save you, anyway? I'm pure — so what? What am I supposed to do with it?"

"You have a connection to the earth," said Nalice. "The pylons in Sholazar — "

"Ah, that's right," said Wrathion. "I'm supposed to help charge the pylons, and then charge the Eye of the Waters, and purify you all. How nice. Do you really think that'll make everyone stop hunting you? They're corrupt, too. You'd have to purify them all. How do you plan on doing that?"

"All we are asking of you is your help to charge the Eye of the Watchers," said Nalice. "That is all. Then you may do as you will."

"Too bad." said Wrathion. "I'm going to let you die. All of you."

Nalice snorted. "Crossbows won't kill me."

"Dragonbane poison will." As Wrathion spoke, Nalice tensed. "What is it you Black dragons believe? Those who die deserve death. The weak die, as they deserve, and so make the rest stronger. I see your memories, Nalice, you have spoken those words often in the past, they're Black Dragonflight's sick, twisted version of a funeral eulogy. I see the memories of all of you. Except that wretched father of yours."

"How?" said Nalice. "How can you see these things?"

"I am the Black Prince," said Wrathion. "I am the earth. I see everything. Learn everything. Hear everything."

Nalice did not say anything for a long moment. "Like the Old Gods."

"No." Wrathion smiled. He made sure to show his teeth. Nalice didn't even flinch. "I am stronger than the Old Gods."

"Don't you see, boy?" Nalice's nostrils flared as she struggled to stand. "People are dying, the whole world is dying, the Black Dragonflight will only be the beginning. I see that now. Do you think you're safe just because you are supposed to be pure? They will consume everthing, and they will get you, too, in the end. Here you are, hiding up in the hills, and everything is dying around you, because — "

"I won't let you use me!" Wrathion's shout made the rogues behind him stiffen. "I heard them when I was in my egg, Nalice! The Reds wanted to use me, they talked about what they were going to do with me, they talked — "

"And you understood them?" Nalice froze.

"Of course I did, I am the Black Prince!" Wrathion clenched his fist. "I am a Black dragon, I — "

"No whelpling can understand speech while still in the egg!" Nalice growled.

"I did." Wrathion crossed his arms. "I am the earth, I hear everything and see everything on it. I learned speech through the minds of the people who walk on Azeroth, learned through their experiences. I heard the Reds talk about using me, like a puppet, and — _"_

"No." Nalice deflated. She sank into the grass. "You didn't hear the Reds, boy. You heard the Old Gods. And you understood them, and learned speech, because _they_ wanted you to. They _chose_ you. Black Prince — _indeed_!"

"Oh for the love of — rogues, take aim!" Wrathion whirled on Nalice. "Me? Corrupt? Are you stupid? Have you listened to a single thing I — "

"Boy, you're not pure." Nalice lifted her chin. "You're just as corrupt as the rest of us, don't you see? In the end, you became a puppet of the Old Gods, more so than the rest of us. You're not pure, you can't be. Those weren't the voices of the Reds you heard, they were Old Gods."

"Rogues, on my mark — Fahrad, what are you — " Beside Wrathion, Fahrad had started to whimper and clutch his head.

Nalice started laughing. "Oh, how clever! They beat us at our own game. Oh, how _clever_. Black Prince _indeed_. Whelplings are so stupid!"

Fahrad muttered, "_Stop it, stop it, shut up!_"

Nalice plowed on. "The Old Gods tried to beat us at our own game, and they almost won. You're not the Black Prince. You're not Nyxondra's son." Nalice's lip curled to bare her teeth. "You're _my_ son. _You're the decoy!_"

-o-O-o-

Chromie stood in the middle of the room, alone. A sea of mortals and immortals alike surrounded her; Alliance, Horde, dragon. Alexstrasza watched with a slanted head. Leonardo Withering frowned.

Nozdormu smiled.

Something gold glimmered at Alexstrasza's waist. The Eye of the Watchers.

"I have returned from speaking to my Infinite self, before she died." Chromie's words seized Oyxia's attention. "Her name was Chronorma. She lived to see her consort, Murozond, perish. But now it will never happen. Now I will never become Infinite. It is no longer necessary. The Infinites have won our war, and yet, so have we all."

The mortals blinked. Nozdormu's smile only grew as he looked to the east.

The horizon was still dark. The sun would not rise for hours yet.

"Today," said Chromie, "I have come to tell you why you are here. Why you're alive, Onyxia — or, at least, not dead. I'm here to tell you what happened to the Heir of Earth and the decoy, and why their eggs were switched, and why Amandine died for you all."

"And how a young boy with a broken leg and a loud mouth changed the world," said Nozdormu.

"We Bronzes live to audit the timelines." Chromie began to walk in a long, slow circle. "To ensure things are carried out as they should. To make sure victories happen as much as losses. Peace and wars. That innocents die and evil people win. That those evil people, in their turn, fall to the good. History has its cycles, its ebbs and flows, its peaks and recessions. So it has always been. So it will always be."

Chromie stopped in front of Onyxia. "But this is not a timeline. This is a universe. And a universe is something quite different." She smiled. "A timeline merely branches off from the main universe, either joining with it later or continuing on its own path forever. But a universe changes its own past." She shuffled, gripping her staff tighter. "It took some time for me to understand the difference."

"Our past has been changed?" said Onyxia.

"Yes," said Chromie. "A paradox cannot occur in a timeline. A paradox gives birth to a new universe, because paradoxes change the past."

"Do we know it changed?"

"You would not be talking to me if it did not change," said Chromie. "You have already experienced the change. You loved Fordragon. You died. You came back. You _stayed_ back. You did not die again, as you did before the past changed. Sabellian did not remain on Outland, as he did before the past changed. Nalice did not die, as she did before the past changed."

Onyxia straightened. "Nalice is alive?"

"Nalice will survive, yes." Chromie smiled.

"That is…" Sabellian clasped his hands. "A relief. But perhaps you can explain?"

"Heh." Chromie looked down, blushing. "It's a long story. The paradox began yesterday, when a small boy began to drown, and yet it never began. It is a loop, an infinite loop." Chromie looked up at Onxyia again. "It makes little sense to mortals. Mark a place in a circle, travel along that circle, and you will come across that mark again. Let me explain how this loop came to be."

"I… see?" Onyxia felt her fingers twitch in impatience.

"In another universe, Onyxia, you never made it out of Blackrock Mountain because Samia and Sabellian were not there to bring you out," said Chromie. "Saya never existed, because I never tampered. The Black Prince became the false Black Aspect, but he was not the true Heir of Earth. The Old Gods used the decoy as a decoy, just as we did. They whispered to him, gave him unrestricted access to the minds of all the corrupt in this world. The only minds he could not access were those with the power to deliberately block him out, the Bronze Dragonflight, and the Heir of Earth himself."

Wringing her hands, Chromie turned and walked slowly towards Alexstrasza. "They did this so he would seek out their enemies and destroy them, whilst also have the ability to hide from them. He was as powerful as the Heir of Earth, but in a different way. He inherited his grandmother's abilities, you see, but his grandmother was a lot more rebellious than he was, and questioned everything the Old Gods ever told her, even not knowing it was the Old Gods who whispered to her."

"Maleficent," murmured Sabellian. "She never did what was expected of her, and always out of spite, and it made her great. I miss her. Nalice misses her."

"In the mother universe, the Black Prince was eventually uncovered and brought down." Chromie turned to face Sabellian and Onyxia again. "The real Heir of Earth was left to figure out his identity alone, and by the time he realised who he was, it was too late. When Deathwing died, the Heart of Earth was never recovered, and so the Heir could never ascend to Aspecthood properly, and so he could not hold the Old Gods back when they destroyed Azeroth from the inside."

Chromie laughed, softly, unhappily. "He did survive, though. He survived drowning, he survived hunting, and he survived when the apocalypse came. But then, one day, he was all that was left. You were not there to guide him, Onyxia, and even Samia Inkling perished, in the end."

"He held her as she died," said Nozdormu.

"One day I went into the past, into Stormwind Keep," said Chromie. "Samia had just given birth to Amandine Inkweaver. It was an alternate timeline where Amandine did not die at birth. I was supposed to change that, to bring this timeline back to its beginning. It was weak, fragile. I did not realise it was a universe, did not realise the paradox was already in place. This part of the universe was merely the closest it would ever come to being the original universe. It almost caved in on itself, almost rejoined it, but I strengthened it."

Chromie twirled her staff. "Bolvar Fordragon criticised you, Onxyia. I encouraged him to be kind to you. The universe strengthened. I thought it was the beginning. It wasn't."

"It was the middle," said Nozdormu. "A sagging middle, needing reinforcement."

Chromie straightened her staff. "There's a crucial difference betwen this universe and the mother universe. In both universes…" She set down her staff. Produced two fists. "There were two eggs."

"The plan was to keep the decoy in the present, to distract Deathwing," said Nozdormu. "The Heir's egg was to be taken back in time and hidden where even the Old Gods could not follow. There is one crucial, universe-changing difference between this universe and its mother. In the mother universe, the egg remained as it was."

"In this universe, the Heir of Earth hatched." Chromie opened a hand.

"The hatching changed everything," said Nozdormu. "What happened to him as a whelpling changed everything."

"He almost drowned," said Chromie. "He was hurt again in the Sludge Fields and left permanently disabled, and both events affected him for the rest of his life and transformed it in a way that even the original Heir of Earth, in the mother universe, had never experienced."

"The rest of his life?" Alexstrasza finally spoke. "You've seen him live out his life?"

"He lived a long time." Chromie looked at her.

"Then you have seen far, indeed."

"I did not need to," said Chromie. "Even in this universe, we took the Heir back in time, but we never brought him back."

Everyone blinked.

"We never intended to, not from the beginning," said Nozdormu. "What was the point?"

Sabellian choked. "You said he almost drowned?"

"The point?" Alexstrasza frowned sharply. "We need him. We need him _now_."

"Don't you understand?" Chromie turned to look at everyone. "It's how time works. Take someone into the past and they find the future all by themselves."

"Wait," said Onyxia. "Are you saying he _grew up_?"

"Yes," said Chromie. "And he always remained hidden. Carefully, carefully hidden."

"There was a group of vrykul children in Northrend, who drowned in a summer flood." Sabellian's words came out in a rush. "Some died. A few survived. Many did not have permanent personality changes — most didn't, in fact. But I remember one in particular… he was under longer than the rest of the survivors. His fine motor control was never the same, he was irritable, he was…" Sabellian stared into space, muttering. "Chronic headaches, poor attention span, he could never focus, he… he… I took him under my wing because he reminded me of — "

"When the whelpling was taken to the past, he told stories of the world he'd come from," said Chromie. "Stories he would come to forget with age, stories he'd come to believe were dreams."

Nozdormu looked to the mortals. "Even us dragons do not remember our childhoods well."

"He got the Old Gods' attention," said Chromie. "In the mother universe, they never cared about one whelp that couldn't hear their whispers, but in this one they heard his stories, tried to get into his head and couldn't understand why he spoke of their deaths but couldn't hear them. They knew they had to kill him."

Onyxia's fists clenched. "Did he survive?"

"Of course he did!" Chromie laughed. "They set _the entire Black Dragonflight_ on him but he survived! They used his disabilities as an excuse to motivate the Black Dragonflight, and this only reinforced the sense of isolation his early whelphood had been. He spent almost his entire life among the mortals, hidden in plain sight."

"I thought she was a vrykul," Sabellian murmured. "Or another dragon. Humans didn't exist yet, not back then. But she wasn't. She was human all along. I looked for her and I couldn't understand why I couldn't find her. She woke up and she was human, an ordinary mortal, but I'd dreamed of her thousands of years before. I couldn't remember it all, only scraps, but… it wasn't a dream, wasn't it? I thought I was mistaken when she was human, but I wasn't, was I?"

Onyxia stared at Sabellian.

Chromie smiled.

"What," said Lirastrasza. "Chromie, _what_?"

"There's more," said Chromie. "Onyxia. There was once a Black dragon who wanted you as his mate. You rejected him. He forced you. You killed him for it. The Black Dragonflight rejected you for killing a mate, even one that did not have your consent. A cloud of drakes came for you, one day, and attacked you. You drove them off, but you were badly injured. It was Sabellian who found you."

She remembered this. She'd remembered it, in Stormwind, years afterwards, when she'd thought the memories had died.

"You tried to drive him off, too," said Chromie. "You were well and truly indoctrinated. If you could not survive on your own, you did not deserve life, you said, but he ignored you and healed you anyway."

"He yelled at me too, as I recall." Onyxia's mouth twisted into a smirk.

"Some of it took time," said Chromie. "Even when you were healed, the Black Dragonflight still attacked you on sight. You ended up spending time with Sabellian and the mortals. You still hated them, even then, but you… mellowed, slightly. In a way, Sabellian also healed part of your corruption with his wisdom. And you know what it led to?"

"What?" said Onyxia.

"Years later, you'd take a pregnant mother off the street," said Chromie, "And I would come to meet her in a hospital ward. Bolvar Fordragon reignited the kindness in you that you'd forgotten. Bolvar Fordragon didn't give you compassion; Sabellian had, long before, when he sheltered you while you struggled to regain your place in the Black Dragonflight. All Bolvar taught you was that mortals deserved your compassion, too. When you died, Samia took tales of your kindness to Outland. When Sabellian learned Romathis had brought you back, he remembered these tales and felt hope for the first time. And so he went to rescue you from Romathis, causing Samia to eventually set out to intercept the Heir of Earth's egg…"

"Which caused him to hatch," said Onyxia. "Which caused him to almost drown, which caused his leg to break and heal incorrectly — somehow. He saw us win, he went back in time, the Old Gods heard his stories, used his disabilities as a target, causing him to be isolated, for him to adopt the compassion of mortals, causing him to take me in, causing Samia to be brought off the streets — and so it continues in a never-ending cycle." She smiled. "A paradox."

"_The_ paradox," said Nozdormu.

"Wait," Lirastrasza's voice cut in, making Onyxia jump. Lirastrasza glared at Chromie. "Are you saying that _Sabellian_ is the Heir of Earth?"

-o-O-o-

The undead were being slaughtered in their droves. The elementals didn't touch a single member of the Alliance present, homing in on every member of the Horde they could find. Melanian had gone quiet. Elementals charged across the courtyards, obscuring her view of Melanian as she surged forward. "Mel!" she screamed. "Mel! Damn it, Mel, where are you?" Fuck, what if he was dead? What if he was _dead_? Nalice would kill her —

She found him, crouched there in his human form, his hands glowing green. "Makes it better," he said, as Samia approached.

"Oh, damn it, Mel!" In her relief, she yelled louder than she intended. "You're supposed to — you can't just heal a broken bone, you need to make sure it's set properly first, otherwise you'll just fuck it up — "

"Makes it _better_." Mel scowled.

Never mind. When this was all over, Sabel could take a look at it. Hopefully the damage wasn't permanent. She yanked the boy into a hug. He shrieked. "Dammit, Mel — I should have stayed behind in the trees, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry — "

"Look," said Mel. "Look at them."

Samia let him go. Only then did she realise the screams and yells had stopped, and that the world had gone silent.

She stood up, and turned around.

As the dust cleared, she caught sight of some rogues helping prisoners onto the scene. She saw Katrina Hackett cradle a teenaged Richard who looked deathly pale and sick. But that wasn't what she stared at.

It was the elementals.

Never, in all her life, had she seen earth elementals this big. Even Sabel had preferred to use smaller elementals than this — these ones towered taller than houses, and had completely torn up the earth when they'd emerged. The boulders that they used as chests rotated slowly in the air, like the shattered, floating islands of Hellfire Peninsula. Their soft, glowing eyes looked down on them all.

Samia was a beginner when it came to shamanism. Even if she wasn't, the elementals were corrupt, and Sabel was the only person they'd ever listen to in their poisoned, frantic state. There was no way she could have done this. No way anyone could have done this, except for —

Melanian clambered to his feet, and limped to her side.

"Mel?" she croaked. "What have you done?"

Mel smiled up at her. "I called them. And they came."

He winced, touching his head.

"Is the boy alright?" It was Travis, the alchemist. He held out a small vial of liquid. "Here. This will help with the pain."

Melanian took it with a shaking hand.

The vial slipped between his fingers and shattered on the ground.

The memory, the one that had eluded her that day, hit her like a punch to the gut.

She remembered the smell of mud and rain, the feeling of burning up, the shattering of glass and the demon — no, no demon, there'd never been a demon. She'd hallucinated. She stared at Melanian in shock and comprehension as Sabel's words, uttered years ago when she was plunged deep into fever, returned to her in full clarity and understanding —

_I've been waiting for you._

* * *

_**A/N**: __Ever since we found out about Nyxondra's egg I've been convinced I knew who was inside it, especially since the Dragonflights were so interfering. It seemed ridiculously simple - the egg needed to hide from Deathwing, but nowhere was safe - nowhere but the past. And certainly no whelpling could ever save the Black Dragonflight._

_When we found out about Wrathion, I was gutted. I'd been so sure I was right._

_... Then Nalice died, and I wondered if, perhaps, I'd been right all along. For a pure whelpling, Wrathion's eyes were awfully... red and evil-looking. Not to mention he was pretty bent on destroying his race and not becoming the new Aspect. I found that quite interesting._

_It still remains to be seen whether or not my suspicions are correct._

_But TOD never truly came to life inside my head until Wrathion showed up and chucked a spanner in the works, and it's been one heck of a journey up until this point. This chapter's been years in the making, and I'm delighted to share it at last._

_Either way, there's still a little ways to go!_


	67. Sleep

_**Warning: **Gore._

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Two**

* * *

"_What_?" Lirastrasza's voice rang across the room.

Beside Onyxia, Sabellian stared at nothing, his eyes wide as his hand covered his mouth. In front of them, Chromie quietly turned around to meet Lirastrasza's angry gaze.

"He is the Black Prince?" Lirastrasza gestured at Sabellian. "Why didn't you tell us before?"

"Things were unfolding as they should." Chromie folded her hands together. "We only needed to give things a soft nudge in the right direction. It would have taken too long for Sabellian to discover his heritage otherwise."

"Do you have any idea how many drakes have died?" Lirastrasza's eyes flashed. "How many of my kin have died in the fight against Deathwing? If you'd told us who he was years ago — _thousands_ of years ago — this war would have been entirely prevented! If you'd told us about the corruption, if you'd told us everything — "

"We have tried, before, to change the universe at different points," said Chromie. "We have tried to change the world through Sabellian before, but it never worked. He needed Onyxia, and he needed her after she had grown compassionate towards mortals, after she had learned to let go of her hate for them after what happened at the Wyrmbog. He needed Samia Inkling, too, to connect him to mortalkind. We tell only what must be known, what cannot be uncovered through any other way. Even in the mother universe it took Sabellian far too long to realise who he was."

"Fuck this magic dragon time travel shit," Clarisse spoke up. "What the hell is this about Bolvar Fordragon being the Lich King?"

"Bolvar would never do that." Leo's face was dark in fury. "_Never_."

"Leo." Lesliora, the Death Knight from the Frostmoon Federation, stepped forward. "It's me. Bolvar."

"You're joking," said Leo. "This isn't funny, corpse — "

"Don't you remember when we were children, Leo?" said Lesliora's body. "My parents died in Stormwind. I lived with you and Reggie in Lordaeron. We looked after the princes together, Arthas and Varian. You were there at the Wrathgate, don't you remember? Varian had trouble handling Saya. Couldn't help but see her mother whenever he looked at her."

"Stop it!" Leo clenched his fists. "Stop talking like him, how dare you — "

"In the chaos at the Wrathgate they took me away," said Bolvar. "They tortured me. The Frostmoon Federation liberated me. Someone had to take up the Helm of the Damned."

"Bolvar would never — "

"Somebody had to do it!" Bolvar jerked. His eyes twitched. Gingerly, he touched his head. Behind everything, beneath the murmured conversations going around them and Lesliora's strange-sounding voice as Bolvar spoke, Onyxia heard the distant hums of the Old Gods. "Some— _body_ had to — had to keep the Scourge in check. I was burned, Unascended. The dragon's flame — ruined my body, turned me into something that wasn't — human, wasn't dragonkin. The Scourge is so small now that when th-this is over, I won't be — needed anymore."

"Bolvar would never work with her!" Leo jabbed a shaking finger in Onyxia's direction. "That would be spitting in the face of everything that happened in Stormwind Keep! Saya wasn't even his, just had his blood because of Bronze dragon betrayal." He made a jerking motion at Chromie. "Saya's her child, not Bolvar's, but he looked after Saya anyway while that little Bronze wretch played god in the timestreams without giving the child so much as a second glance. Because Bolvar had honour. And I refuse to believe that the man who was my best friend would work with Onyxi. If he worked with Onyxia, it would be spitting in Varian's face, shitting on Tiffin's memory. It would be an insult to little Anduin, who lost his mother because of her."

Bolvar hesitated. Onyxia heard the whispers grow louder. _Bolvar, don't! _She thought. _Not now _—

"I killed one woman," said Onyxia. "One adult woman, to protect my people. I never killed children, you miserable piece of — "

"Neither did I!"

"What do you think whelps are?" Onyxia curled the Ambassador's hands into fists. "Monsters?"

"They're not like children!" Leonardo focused fiery eyes on her. "They could defend themselves, not like our children, and they _did_. They tore my guildmates apart."

"You made them into leather armour." In Stormwind, she used to rage and shout. But here, at the top of Wyrmrest Temple, she felt ice cold, and her words came out in a low tone. Withering had to step closer to hear, his eyes narrowed.

Thrall, in the background, frowned. Something glimmered around his neck and caught Onyxia's eye, beneath his clothes. Feeling her gaze, the orc raised a hand to hide it.

What was it? The gold glimmer, the vague round shape reminded her of stories Romathis used to tell her, stories of the Dragon Soul. But that was impossible. The Dragon Soul had been gold, had glimmered, but — what was the orc hiding from her?

Nozdormu caught her eye. Slowly, he looked to the Eye of the Watchers that hung at Alexstrasza's belt.

He smiled.

Onyxia ripped her gaze away and returned it to Leo. "You cut a swathe through Dustwallow and the Burning Steppes. You massacred whelps by the dozens in Blackrock, even whelps of other flights. Redwhelps, Bluewhelps, Bronzewhelps and Greenwhelps. You killed everything that moved. You drove my species to the edge of extinction, and you complain I tried to prevent it? How dare you? _How dare you?_"

"Onyxia," said Sabellian, eyes shifting. The Red drakes had made a circle around the edge of the crowd, and slowly pressed in, weaving between witnesses to slowly approach. Sabel shifted closer to Onyxia. "We need to do something…"

"Yes." Onyxia raised her hands. "I killed Tiffin Wrynn. I did not throw the rock, I did not start the riot that took her life, but I took measures that I knew would result in the violence. I stepped aside when I saw a man pick up a rock and throw it at the balcony. I stood and watched as Tiffin died in Varian's arms. I took Varian from his kingdom, I enchanted Bolvar Fordragon and made him do things against his will. I violated minds and I manipulated behind the scenes so that whenever blood was shed, it never stuck to my hands. Always someone else's. And when the walls closed in, I crippled your guild and claimed more lives than you'll ever forgive.

"But you know what?" Onyxia lowered her hands. Turned them, palms up, as if asking for something. "That is the cycle of hatred. One side acts, the other reacts, the first side reacts — nothing but reactions. Bolvar killed my young the same way I killed Tiffin Wrynn; he didn't wield the weapons, but he let it happen. If this war continues, the Black Dragonflight will go extinct."

"_Now is not the time, Onyxia_," Sabel murmured, almost pressed up against her. The drakes came closer.

And so did Thrall and Alextrasza, both shifting closer with frowns to hear her. Both of them, and their little golden artefacts.

_Good_.

She drew in a breath. She projected her voice, loud and clear. "It is for them, Leonardo Withering, that I give up my pride. Black dragons hold pride dearer to them than anything; without pride, we have nothing. It is better to us to die fighting, for us all to die fighting in this stupid war, than for one of us to surrender. But that is the way the Old Gods taught us. It is my pride in the Black Dragonflight — _my_ Black Dragonflight, not the Old Gods' Black Dragonflight — that causes me to say this. It is my pride in the Black Dragonflight of old that is making me shed every ounce of all other pride I ever have had, and say this."

She looked around. The room had gone dead quiet, but she heard the Old Gods rumbling deep beneath the temple. She saw Lesliora, from the corner of her vision, twitch and jerk. _Hang in there_, she told Bolvar. _Fight them. Don't let the Old Gods take you._

The drakes watched, still. Sabel hissed low under his breath. Alexstrasza and Thrall remained where they were, exchanging glances.

"I killed Tiffin Wrynn of my own free will," Onyxia said, quietly. Her voice shook. She raised it. "I killed Tiffin Wrynn of my own free will. I had Varian Wrynn kidnapped of my own free will, and with that free will, I enchanted Bolvar Fordragon, invaded his mind, controlled his actions and thoughts and watched him go insane from it. I knew what I was doing all along. I mated outside my Flight to give birth to a child I knew was not his, and knew would not have an easy life. Everything I have done, it was because I wanted to."

Sabellian turned his head to her, incredulous. Lirastrasza watched in rapture. Leonardo Withering blinked at her, mouth hanging open. Thrall listened in silence.

"Undeath has taught me one valuable lesson I did not want to admit," said Onyxia. "Ever since I have become aware of the Old Gods' influence, I have fought them. I have closed my ears to their whispers but still heard their sounds, muffled, beyond. They make anger rise within me, but it is me who opens my mouth and allows it to vent, rather than confronting it and defeating it. Since the day I have been made aware of them — " she glanced at Chromie and remembered a night, long ago, in Stormwind Keep. Remembered candles in the dark, remembered Horan Bronzewing, remembered the confrontation. " — I have not done their will again. Why would this be possible unless I had free will? All along, they never compelled me. Not once. They ordered, but it was I who obeyed. I was never mindless. I was doing what they said all along and thought their thoughts were my own. And so, with that in mind..."

She must do what one had to do. What someone had had to do for far too long. What did sincerity matter if the words did what they had to do?

_There needs to be an end to this._

She looked up and met Leonardo Withering's eyes.

She licked her lips with a dry tongue.

"Leonardo Withering," she said. Turned her head. "Alextrasza." The Dragonqueen's eyes glittered as she watched. "Ysera. Nozdormu. Chromie. Bolvar Fordragon. Thrall. To the representatives of the Alliance, I also address Varian Wrynn, who is not present, and all the leaders of the Alliance and the Horde who are not here."

"What are you _doing_?" Sabel muttered.

_What are you planning?_ said the Ambassador.

_What is the point of this?_ She heard a voice that was not her own. _This will achieve nothing, this will endear you to no one. Words are only words._.

"And to Sabellian." She looked to her brother — not-brother — who blinked back at her in confusion. "I owe this to you too. We all do. To you, and to the children who died, and to all the Black dragons who died needlessly. To everyone."

She kept her chin lifted, and looked to Leonardo Withering.

"On behalf of the Black Dragonflight," she said, "on behalf of those who are still corrupt and those who are fighting it, on behalf of those who are aware and those unaware... on behalf of the ones who have their spirits rendered pure by death..." Serinar. Ebonaria. Maleficent. Mother. "... on behalf of the children who know not what they do, or what poisonous birthright we have passed onto them..." her voice shook. "I apologise."

The world felt as if all sound had been sucked out.

"What." Sabellian said.

Nalice wasn't there, but if she was, she'd have pressed a silent hand to her forehead, Onyxia was certain. She could feel the Ambassador doing it even inside his own head.

"This is stupid," said Sabellian. "Stop it."

"I apologise for not challenging my thoughts," said Onyxia. "I apologise for choosing to obey. I apologise for not thinking. I apologise for not changing sooner. I apologise for all the death and war my actions, and the actions of my Flight, have brought. I cannot control my father's actions, but I can control mine. The Obsidian Dawn's will are our own, now, because we know better, and we understand. I apologise for all I have done, for all _we_ have done. I beg you to spare the lives of the Black Dragonflight, to cease hunting Nalice, and to allow her to live. I beg you to allow Sabellian to take up the mantle of Black Aspect..." It took every ounce of her will, every single iota of strength to lower herself to the ground, to _kneel like a commoner, kneel as if you're some common dog and not a matriarch of the Black Dragonflight_ —

She closed her ears to the Old Gods, and let their hateful words wash over her.

"I put myself at your mercy, Leonardo Withering," said Onyxia. "I surrender to the Alliance and will accept all consequences of my actions. Dragonqueen, I have no right to ask this, but I beg that you spare Nalice, spare the Black Dragonflight, and allow Sabellian to purify us so that we may live free from the taint."

Nobody breathed a word.

Until Sabellian cut the silence with, "You are _such_ an idiot. You do remember they're just as corrupt as us — er — as you, right? Titans, you are so _dramatic_."

_You realise you're using my body to do this, right?_ said the Ambassador.

Onyxia flicked her eyes up from beneath the Ambassador's eyelashes and towards Thrall. She saw the glimmer of gold beneath his tunic again. _Step closer, little orc…_

She thought she heard Bolvar laugh.

Thrall took a step towards her.

Then Sabellian said, "Come to think of it, if this worked, it would be nice for this to be over. I'm tired of running and hiding. From my own kin as well as the enormous tentacle things that have apparently been hunting me since birth — "

"Sabellian." Alextrasza held up a hand. "That is enough of your commentary."

"Since when do you give _me_ orders?" Sabellian waved his arms. "Onyxia may have bowed down on the ground for you, but I'm not following your orders, _Dragonqueen_. Does this mean I'm leader of the Black Dragonflight now? Well, not really, I mean Deathwing's still around, and Onyxia's the leader of the Obsidian Dawn, I think? Well, what's left of it. Meaning just me and her. Can you be leader if you're by yourself? I don't even know where Jettion escaped to, and Nalice is wherever, but I never followed orders anyway because I'm _me_, and — " He stared. "Titans, I'm not even Onyxia's brother." Then, "I'm inbred. Remember back when being inbred was seen as weakness, before it became normal because — " He paused. "_Samia gave me brain damage_!"

Thrall took another step towards Onyxia. He was fifteen feet away now. _Closer, little orc,_ thought Onyxia. _Closer._

"Samia," Sabellian muttered, "gave me brain damage. I don't believe it." He paused. "Wait, yes I do. She did tend to make her worst mistakes when she had the best of intentions. Like that time she wiped out most of our race. Ah well, I hated them anyway."

"Leonardo Withering." Thrall came closer, yet again. Ten feet... _Closer, closer..._ "I believe the onus is on you. It was you whom she first addressed."

"I..." Leonardo Withering looked lost. Thrall stopped. _No, no, little orc, closer..._ "I'm not the highest authority here. Dragonqueen — "

"The crimes committed against the Red Dragonflight were done so by her father," said the Dragonqueen. "The majority of her crimes were done against humanity. Leonardo Withering, you were the highest ranking human here out of all those that Onyxia directly affected at the time."

Leonardo turned to look at Lesliora and Bolvar, still sharing the same body. They watched him back, twitching and jerking as the Old Gods sang.

"Leo," said Clarisse. "Go on."

"Titans, remember Romathis?" said Sabellian. "Shame he's not still around, he'd be relieved to know we're not related."

_Does he ever shut up?_ said the Ambassador.

Leonardo turned to Onyxia. Half his face was burned — she'd done that at the Wyrmbog, not long before the final blow was struck. He looked stricken. Lost.

"You are not used to fighting an enemy that shows remorse, are you, Leonardo Withering?" said Onyxia softly. "You are not used to being begged for mercy. You are used to enemies who die for what they believe in, just as you do. You are used to enemies who turn from the light, but never seek to return to it."

Thrall remained standing still.

_What are you up to?_ said Bolvar.

_See if you can get Thrall to step closer to me, _said Onyxia.

_Why am I not surprised?_ said Bolvar.

_Once a Black dragon,_ said Onyxia, _always a Black dragon. There is something around his neck I want. It will help us._

_Oh dear,_ said Bolvar, before he twitched again and hissed._ The Old Gods are getting so loud, Onyxia, I think something's coming — _

"Onyxia." Leonardo's voice came out in a croak. He paused, and licked his lips. "On behalf of the Alliance and King Varian Wrynn, I accept your surrender. We require your body — your real body. Tell us where it is, and we will bring it to Stormwind to face King Varian Wrynn and his justice. Ordinarily, you would face trial for your actions, but in this time of war you are unlikely to receive that privilege." He pressed his lips tightly together. Lightly inclined his head to Onyxia. "Considering all you have done, you have just had an unimaginable favour bestowed upon you, dragon. At any sign of treachery, this mercy will be revoked and you and your allies will be killed on sight, without exception, hesitation or mercy."

Onyxia felt herself falter. Was her plan truly a good idea?

Sabellian looked at Onyxia, the distress beginning to show on his face.

Alextrasza looked at Nozdormu. He casually looked up at the ceiling, the slightest of smirks playing about his lips.

"Nozdormu?" said Alexstrasza.

"Do what you will," the Bronze Aspect hummed. "We have seen what will happen."

"As you say." The Dragonqueen stepped forward. "Lady Onyxia. As the Dragonqueen of the Red Flight, we acknowledge your apology and accept your regrets. We will allow the Alliance to take you in exchange for their permission to allow Sabellian to remain with us."

"Wait," said Sabel. "When did I come into this? No, go away."

Onyxia shot him a look.

"I hereby lift the bounty upon Nalice," said the Dragonqueen, "and the bounty upon any and all members of the Obsidian Dawn who are part of it at this moment. Nalice will be left alone, except in the case of treachery on her part, upon which instance she will be put to death."

Sabellian rolled his eyes.

"And the — " Bolvar paused. Jerked. Hissed. Continued. "The Horde?" He looked to Thrall. "Do you accept Onyxia's apologies, or no?"

Thrall unconsciously touched the lump under his shirt. "It is not my place, as Onyxia has not committed crimes directly against the Horde."

"Her Flight have, have they not?" said Bolvar.

Thrall looked to Onyxia. He frowned.

Nozdormu said lightly, "It makes no difference, Onyxia, whether or not he accepts."

Onyxia frowned. Chromie smiled sadly.

Thrall took another step closer. _Come here, little orc, just a few more steps..._ "It would be hypocritical of the Horde not to forgive those who seek redemption," said Thrall. "I — "

"She belongs to the Alliance," said Leo curtly.

"Of course, Master Withering." Thrall glanced at him. "But if I may say so, she requested redemption for the Black Dragonflight through purifying them. And if I remember correctly..." he looked to the Dragonqueen. "There is a way to purify them, is there not?"

The Dragonqueen drew the Eye of the Watchers from her belt. "This purified Sabellian, a long time ago. Perhaps it can purify the Flight once again. But it lacks the energy, it needs a power source."

"Sholazar Basin," Sabellian muttered, low enough only Onyxia heard.

"I believe..." Thrall placed a hand down his shirt. Onyxia's legs tensed like a wound-up spring. Nozdormu looked at her and shook his head. "I may have the answer — "

"Are you insane?" Lirastrasza thrust herself between Thrall and Onyxia. "Are you _all_ insane? Touched in the head by the Old Gods yourselves, perhaps? You cannot purify the Black Dragonflight! They fell to the Old Gods when they _were_ pure, remember?"

"But if we could be rendered immune to their whispers — " Onyxia started.

"You said so yourself, Black dragon!" Lira jabbed a finger towards Onyxia. "You committed your crimes of your own free will. Who says that you won't end up the Scourge to the Old Gods' Burning Legion? Splintering away so you can commit crimes independent of the Old Gods?"

Thrall said, "If Chromie — "

"And how can you trust Chromie?" Lira whirled around to face him. "Or the Bronze Dragonflight?" She looked to Nozdormu, who seemed bored. "They turn into Infinites later, for the love of the Titans, how can we trust them? They dangle us all on string! They've allowed so many atrocities to happen and now they step in and take the side of the Black Dragonflight? This is disgusting. It's an insult to every Red dragon, every mortal, that's ever died. You Bronzes seek to prevent the extinction of the Black Dragonflight, but you allowed the Scourge to overrun Lordaeron? You allowed Outland to shatter? You allowed Medivh to open the Dark Portal?"

_Onyxia,_ said Bolvar's voice, weak in her mind. _Help me._

_Bolvar?_

_The Old Gods are getting louder_, said Bolvar. _They're so loud, I think something's about to — I can hear — _

Lirastrasza's voice cut into Bolvar's. "You seek to prevent the extinction of the Black Dragonflight, but you allowed the massacre at Wrymbog and Blackrock that drove them to the edge? You seek to prevent the extinction of the Black Dragonflight, but you allowed Deathwing to continue his destruction across Azeroth?" She bared her teeth in a snarl, and every dragon in the room tensed. "You are hypocrites. Nothing but hypocrites." She looked to Alexstrasza. "Mother, Leonardo Withering, I beg you. Do not accept her false apology. If you care for this world at all, do not welcome her back." She turned on Onyxia with a glare. "I saw where you're looking, Black dragon! You know what Thrall wears about his neck and you seek to take it from him, do you not?"

Onyxia pressed her lips into a tight line.

"Once a Black dragon," Nozdormu stepped towards Onyxia. "Always a Black dragon." He smiled, gently, at Onyxia. "But that is not a bad thing. The Black dragonflight is the only Flight that never gives in, is it not? And that will fall in everyone's favour."

_Onyxia!_ Bolvar shouted. On the other side of the chamber, Lesliora whimpered and pressed her palms to her ears.

"Lesliora?" said John. His bird squawked.

"Bolvar?" said Leonardo quietly.

"I can't — " Lesliora — or Bolvar — jerked her hands away from her ears. Tried to sit up straight. "Leo, I can't fight them for much longer, they're so loud."

"They know what's coming," said Nozdormu. "They cannot touch us Bronzes, but they do not have to. They know. Dawn will be here soon, and so the world will be bathed in Light, and the shadows will shrink away from the sun. This will be their last, desperate death throes…"

"We need your help, Leo." Bolvar's voice sounded desperate. Onyxia felt her chest tighten, felt his tension run underneath her like a current beneath waves. "We need to purify the Black Dragonflight. Forget Deathwing, don't any of you see? Kill him, and nothing will change. The Old Gods are your true enemies!"

"You traitorous bastard!" Lirastrasza raged. "How dare you? We gave you a chance to protect Azeroth from the Scourge and you only take the side of the Black Dragonflight, you take the side of scum — "

The Red drakes in the crowd tensed.

Onyxia whirled around to Sabellian. "Sabel, you need to leave, _now_."

"I second that sentiment," said Nozdormu.

"I third it," piped up Chromie.

"No," said Alextrasza. "The Heir of Earth must remain here, and — " Alextrasza looked to Nozdormu. "Forgive me, brother, but Lirastrasza is right. You understand. We cannot trust the word of those who become Infinite later on."

_Bolvar,_ said Onyxia, looking at the artefact in Alexstrasza's hand. _We need the Eye of the Watchers, and we need the Dragon Soul — _

"It's started," said Nozdormu. "The siege."

"What?" Alexstrasza looked to him.

But it was Bolvar who straightened up. "Deathwing is coming."

"What?" said Sabellian.

"He's bringing an army of mortals and elementals and the minions of the Old Gods." Bolvar looked Sabellian in the eye. "The siege has started."

The chamber went quiet, except for the whistling of wind.

Alexstrasza strode from the centre of the room towards the edge. She looked out. Onyxia looked to Sabellian, who caught her eye, then reluctantly followed Alexstrasza.

"I can't see them," said Sabellian. "Not through this blizzard. Would they really attack in the middle of one?"

"All the better to hide their approach," said Nozdormu. "Now, may I mention that — "

" — you should be quick about — " said Chromie.

" — Leaving," said Nozdormu.

"Dragonqueen." Sabellian held out his hand. "We need the Eye of the Watchers, and we need to power it. If you won't hand over the Dragon Soul with it, fine, but there is another way we can power the Eye and — "

But Alexstrasza drew it closer to her breast. "You have been brainwashed by Onyxia."

"Oh, for the _love of the Titans_, you have _got_ to be joking."

"Onyxia," said Chromie. "Don't — "

Onyxia flew at Alexstrasza.

_The Old Gods!_ Bolvar yelled. _I can't hear anything over them — _

The Ambassador's mortal body collided with Alexstrasza, who tossed Onyxia aside like she weighed nothing. Onyxia rolled to a stop on the floor. At the corner of her eye she saw Alexstrasza start toward her, but then her vision was filled with Lirastrasza's visage. "No, you don't!" the Red spat, tightening her fingers around the Ambassador's throat. "I will kill the Ambassador, and then I'm going to find your body and kill you, you little Obsidian — "

_We need to be purified!_ Onyxia called to Bolvar. She felt the Ambassador take his body back over, claws erupting from his finger tips as he drove them into Lirastrasza's eyes. Gore and hot liquid splattered on Onyxia's face. _Bolvar, we need the Eye, now — _

"Kill him!" Lirastrasza shrieked, blood and fluids dripping into her mouth. "Kill him, kill them both, kill them all, Sabellian's no more than her puppet — "

"_Get out of here!_" Chromie screamed.

"Sabel," Onyxia croaked, with the Ambassador's lips.

The world shook. Dust trickled down from the ceiling.

"Catapult!" A tauren cried out in Orcish.

"No!" called out an undead as the building shook again. "They're dropping rocks on the roof!"

Bolvar's presence overwhelmed Onyxia, seizing the Ambassador's hand and clutching Lirastrasza's arm. Necrotic magic crept up it. Lirastrasza finally let go with a scream, one hand pressed to her damaged eyes, her ruined arm brought in close to her chest.

"Allowing Sabellian to live is too risky." The Dragonqueen's voice floated over them in the chaos, a single focal point in the frenzy as the building shook again and the mercs scattered, mounting drakes and disappearing into the blizzard. "We don't need a Black Aspect. We have Thrall. As a mortal, he will be able to use the Dragon Soul without consequence. He is a shaman, the most powerful mortal shaman in the world. Kill Sabellian, we can't let him live, it's too risky — "

"You need a Black dragon to take Deathwing's Heart of Earth!" Onyxia screamed, scrambling to her feet. Alexstrasza watched her impassively. The mercs drew their weapons. In the chaos Onyxia glimpsed Lesliora, watching impassively. An arrow flew past Onyxia's head. _You're going to get me killed!_ thundered the Ambassador. "If you don't have a Black Aspect to hold the Heart of Earth there will be nothing keeping the Old Gods in check!"

_I can't hold them back,_ said Bolvar. _I can't hold the Old Gods back, they're so loud - _

_Stop panicking, Onyxia!_ said the Ambassador. _Let me take care of this!_

The cacophony of the chamber vanished into sudden, muffled silence. The freezing wind disappeared and her vision faded away, leaving Onyxia swimming in blackness.

_Damn it, Ambassador!_ said Onyxia. _Don't push me out, I need your body — _

_Shut up!_ snapped the Ambassador. _I will do this!_

_Bolvar_, said Onyxia. _Is Sabel alright? Get him out of there!_

There was no response. Gradually, Onyxia came to be aware of a stillness in the air.

She opened her eyes to find herself in the hidden chamber in Icecrown Citadel, back in her own body. Bolvar lay slumped in his chair.

"Bolvar." Onyxia stood up, and rushed to his side. She touched him and hissed at the Red fire that burned the fingertips of her good hand. She drew it back. "Bolvar." She waved her hand in front of his closed eyes. "Bolvar — "

_Please, Onyx_.

The voice was so quiet inside her she barely heard it. "Bolvar?" she said, softly.

_I need you._

"What do you need me to do?"

_I need you,_ Bolvar's eyes opened. His hand seized Onyxia's arm. She yelped as her flesh sizzled under his burning grasp. _I need you to be strong, like the Black dragon you are._

The world whirled away in a cloud of blue and grey, which faded away into blackness, leaving Onyxia surrounded by nothingness. The burning sensation disappeared. All sound deadened.

Onyxia stood in black silence.

"Bolvar?" she said quietly.

But all was not silent, and all was not black. The world shifted into a dim, purple hue. She felt teeth, and tentacles, and heard whispers so silent she could barely hear them, but they buzzed underneath her until she forgot what stillness was.

They were here. They always had been. She couldn't remember what it was like for them not to be.

Far away, she could hear the whispers yell, could hear Bolvar screaming —

But not just Bolvar. She heard a boy, too, a sobbing, crying boy whose voice she didn't recognise. _Please!_ he called. _They're so loud, make them stop! Help me!_

"Jet?" she said, but it was not Jettion's voice.

She heard Bolvar yell in the distance. Heard a sob, felt a faraway sense of agony that somehow felt so dim and distant despite its intensity.

"Where is this place?" she said. "There's living, here. I can feel heartbeats. This isn't just Bolvar's channel, is it? There's the living, here — "

_I can see everything,_ said the boy. _Hear everything. Not because I'm pure, not because purity gives me power, but because my power is directly connected to the Old Gods. I was never pure. I was the most corrupt of all. I was Deathwing's heir, not the Heir of Earth._

Onyxia looked around in the blackness.

_Just as you can connect to Bolvar and see through the eyes of any undead_, said the boy._ I can connect to the Old Gods, and see through the eyes of everyone who walks this earth who is corrupt. He is king of the dead, and I am king of the corrupt._

"Who are you?" she said.

_The Prince of the Old Gods' darkness,_ said the boy. _The Black Prince. The decoy. That is all I was, all along. The son of a shrine keeper who will never go home. The child of a widow overshadowed by her parents, and broken by their reflections. She never measured up. I suppose I never will, either. Why won't they be quiet? I couldn't even hear them before, but they won't stop screaming. It's — it's quieter, here, with you. He has a shield he hides behind, and though he can hear their muffled cries it is more peaceful, here, than elsewhere. But the screaming is louder, they won't stop — _

"Boy?" she said, but the boy shrunk away.

_Onyx_, said Bolvar. _Please — _

Onyxia turned around.

A light shone, on the horizon. A golden light. She caught a glimpse of bleached stone.

Onyxia walked towards it.

-o-O-o-

She stepped into a chamber of white and blue. A massive throne stood before her. Underneath the arms lurked two golden lions.

Onyxia paused. She looked around. Behind her, in front of the throne, lay a long corridor. She smelled spring pollen on a gentle, warm breeze. She felt a heart beat in her chest. Everything was its proper colour, not the purple-tinted world that her undead vision gave her. She looked down at her hands. They looked back at her. Flawless. Pale. Slim.

"Auntie Kat," said a voice.

Onyxia looked up. She opened her mouth, but her protests died in her throat. In front of her stood a blonde boy who looked vaguely familiar. Wispy fuzz covered his chin. His eyes were a vibrant blue.

But she recognised that smile anywhere.

"Anduin." She smiled, herself. "You've grown."

Anduin pouted, ruining the effect. It made her smirk. "Grown ups always say that."

"How old are you now?"

"Old enough I'm not a child anymore," he said.

"No." Onyxia pursed her lips. She'd watched his father grow up, watched his mother die, both so long ago now. "I suppose not."

She looked around. The guards saluted her. She recognised each and every one of them. One grinned at her, with dark, cheeky eyes. _Black dragons should not smile or grin,_ she remembered telling this one a long time ago. _For it shows complacency and arrogance that begs to be stripped away with humiliation._ Adam Rivers had always become so carried away by pretending to be human. In the end, though, he'd died for her, and that had purged him of all his sins.

Adam Rivers straightened up and faced back forward, a faint smile still on his lips.

"Why are the Suicide Squad here?" Onyxia looked to Anduin.

"I dunno." Anduin shrugged. "Why are you here?"

"I followed Bolvar," said Onyxia.

"He's in your chambers, with Saya." Anduin smiled up at her. "Tell him I say hello."

"I..." Onyxia looked down at him. Not by much; he had shot up like a weed. "I will, then."

Adam Rivers saluted as she passed. So did all the others. Atramentia was there, too. She'd been the first dragonspawn to die, and had never lived to see Reginald Windsor.

The corridors of Stormwind were deserted as she moved through them. She half expected to meet Varian around a corner with an ugly scowl, or Nalice, with her perfectly trimmed hair and that arrogant tilt to her chin. _Arrogance?_ thought Onyxia, as her feet move softly over carpet. _It had never been arrogance. Only armour._

The white stone seemed brighter than she remembered. The golden sunlight seemed softer, somehow, gentler. Its gentle warmth heated her living skin. Her heartbeat thrummed underneath her skin. She breathed, in and out. Smelled the spring pollen. What time of year had she fled from Stormwind? The seasons had come to blend together. She could not remember.

She found the front door of their quaters, made of solid oak. She opened it.

Inside, she saw the chaise lounge pressed up against the wall to one side. In the middle of the floor, with parchment unfurled over closed books, Saya lay on her stomach. She held a quill in her fist, but it did not break no matter how hard she pressed it to the parchment. Onyxia knelt beside her and ran a hand through Saya's dark hair. Saya didn't even seem to notice.

"Saya," said Onyxia. "Where's your father?"

"In the study," she heard Bolvar say.

Onyxia glanced down at Saya again, who didn't even look up. Onyxia rose. As she did, she noticed she held her staff in one hand — the staff that had broken when she teleported to the Wyrmbog. She wore the same robes, too, but this time without the mud encrusted on the hems.

She looked out the window to see Jettion sitting on the sill, grooming his scales with his tongue, both eyes present, feathers stuck to his snout. _How long ago that was_.

She patted Jettion on the head.

In the study, she found Bolvar frowning over a chess board, sitting behind two lines of black pieces. His eyes were their old green, his hair the old shade of chocolate brown. The orange and gold hues of the room bled together. Onyxia smelled smoke. She glanced over.

"Why is the fireplace lit?" She leaned her staff against the wall and sat behind the white pieces. "It's spring here, I think. It's warm outside."

"I'm always cold, these days," he said. Glanced at her, briefly. "You go first."

She looked down at the pieces. "Why?"

"White always goes first."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Someone decided it was to be that way, I suppose."

"What if I said you go first?"

"I don't want to, because my pieces are black."

"Why are you black? I'm a Black dragon, seems only fitting that I play black."

"Today you're playing white."

Onyxia shrugged. Leaned back in her chair. Nudged a pawn forward. "It's been a while."

"Too long." Bolvar mirrored her move. "I missed this."

"You did?" Onyxia wasted no time bringing out a knight. "I thought you wouldn't have wanted to think of it after what happened."

"I didn't want to think of it _because_ I missed it," said Bolvar, not looking at her. She saw his fingers hover a pair of pawns, before he chose one and placed it forward two squares. "I didn't want to miss it. I felt like a doormat for missing you after what you did to me. Felt like a traitor for missing it. I suppose I was. Traitor to Varian, traitor to you. I stabbed you both in the back, in the end."

"How so?"

"How not?" Bolvar sat back and crossed his arms as Onyxia considered the board. "I let you manipulate me, and then when that was over, I went and killed your young."

"Yes, you did." Onyxia finally shifted another pawn. "But you never _let_ me manipulate you. I was too powerful to resist. Ten thousand years old to your forty something, remember?"

"Somehow, that just makes it worse," said Bolvar, "knowing I couldn't fight back at all. That it wasn't my fault. If it wasn't my fault, then that means I was helpless. Nobody likes to be helpless." He brought out a knight. With this body, with these eyes, Onyxia could see the detail in every painted grain of wood, polished to a fine sheen.

"No." Onyxia touched a bishop. "I know." She took one of his pawns. "This chess game we used to play is all so calculated. It's like war. Control a portion of the board using carefully devised strategy, and then win." She exhaled through her nose. "I was always so bad at this."

"You played too defensively," said Bolvar.

"Yes," said Onyxia. "In both chess and everything else." She rubbed her forehead. "Bolvar, what happened in Stormwind, what happened in Northrend… I made it all up as I went along."

"Yes." He sounded amused. "I noticed."

"And what has that brought us, in the end? We must attack, but Alextrasza has the Eye of the Watchers, and Thrall has… the Dragon Soul. I think it is the Dragon Soul. Titans know what else the Bronzes have been up to while they've been ignoring us."

"But the pillars of Sholazar are clear, now. And ready."

"Yes. They are." Onyxia pressed her lips together. "And with Deathwing marching on Wyrmrest, the pillars are ours for the taking. We need only pick up where Seldarria left off, and create a Lesser Dragon Soul. But Deathwing won't have forgotten those pillars, and Seldarria is still out there, somewhere. We would be at our most vulnerable."

"You couldn't create a Lesser Dragon Soul alone," said Bolvar. "Eduard is still looking for Samia. That's two more. The Ambassador and Sabellian got away safely. That's another two. And if Eduard is lucky enough to find Nalice as well, that's one more."

"That is still not enough to fight Deathwing. Wherever he is. I don't know what happened that Nalice survived, but…"

"It's enough to slip in under his nose," said Bolvar. "And you have one more weapon up your sleeve."

"You?" said Onyxia.

"Almost."

Bolvar quietly, casually, wiped the chess board clear with his forearm. The pieces didn't make a sound as they landed on carpet.

Bolvar brought out the Helm of the Damned and placed it on the board. Its empty eyes watched Onyxia.

"Almost, you said," said Onyxia, watching it back.

She looked up to meet Bolvar's eyes. All of a sudden, she saw more lines in his face than she could remember. More grey in his hair. _How short a mortal's life is_, she thought. _He would have been dead in thirty years, if not for this curse._

"I'm tired, Onyxia," he said. "You were, too, once. You'd been in Stormwind too long. Been human for too long. Thirty years, wasn't it? But you're ten thousand. I'm so much younger than you are. I don't have your fortitude. I'm amazed I've made it this far. I resisted months of torture, and I've been the Lich King for only a few years but..." He let go of the helm, and slumped back in his chair. Closed his eyes. "I'm so tired. The undead are running amok because I'm in this place, but I don't have the strength to leave again. The Old Gods have gone ballistic since Chromie's revelation and I just can't fight them. They're so loud I can't hear myself think. Sabel's life is in danger now; the Old Gods must have kept him alive because they wanted him to charge the Glimmering Pillar because he's the Heir of Earth, but once you create the Lesser Dragon Soul, his life is forfeit. They won't need him anymore. They will go after him, and they will kill him. Any Black dragon could take the Heart of Earth, but only he could lock the Old Gods away permanently without hearing their whispers."

"What are you saying?" Onyxia leaned on the chess board.

"There must always be a bearer of the Heart of Earth." Bolvar smiled at her, weakly. "And until we are done here, there must be a Lich King. I'm not strong enough to do this anymore, Onyxia, but you are much stronger than me." He nudged the helm to her. "I don't have the strength to leave this place, but you've always been stronger than me. Stronger than you think. I want you to wear it, for a time. The Old Gods will bombard you, but I know you can resist. I know you _will_ resist. The Scourge will obey you, though there's not really much of it left. And it may provide some... protection."

"Protection?"

"The Dragon Soul almost killed Deathwing, did it not?" said Bolvar. "The Lesser Dragon Soul's effects may be similar, although greatly reduced. With the magic of the Lich King forming a shield around you, perhaps you can minimise it further. There's no guarantees, but... Deathwing didn't think to protect himself against the Dragon Soul's power when he first used it, didn't he? You may be able to bypass it altogether. We both know Sabellian can't be the one who wields the Dragon Soul, you need him alive."

Onyxia's stomach fluttered. Her fingertips touched the Helm of Domination. "And what would happen to you?"

"I don't know," said Bolvar. "I don't even know why I'm still alive. I don't eat, don't drink. Maybe it's the Reds' fire, maybe it's the Helm, I don't really know. I don't think you can truly become Lich King while I am alive, but the Helm will lend you my power."

"When this is over, if you're still around..." Onyxia gave half a smile. "Could I give it back?"

He chuckled. "You made a promise to me earlier, Onyxia. Made a promise to me and my Eternal Watchers. We want our humanity back."

"Ah, yes. Do not fear. I intend to keep it." She rose.

He stood up as well, and yanked her into a close hug. She blinked. Slowly, she raised her arms and hugged him back. She pressed her face into his shoulder and clung. "In spite of everything, Bolvar, I did miss you. I feel as much of a traitor as you."

"Heh. I guess we're both as bad as each other."

She pulled away, but did not let go, watching him. He stroked her face and hair, smiling weakly.

"Dragons," he muttered, and kissed her.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

They hung there, in that moment, for what felt like forever.

"Onyxia," he said, when he pulled away. "I am sorry."

She licked her lips. "So am I, Bolvar. So am I."

"Heh. You lied to Leonardo Withering, didn't you? You didn't mean that apology at all. You were just buying time."

"No." Onyxia stepped back. "Not to him. But I always meant it to you. And besides… it had to stop somewhere, all of this. They needed to hear it. What is left of my kin needed for them to hear it."

-o-O-o-

She opened her eyes to silver and blue. The chamber was silent all around them. Bolvar lay slumped in his seat, his eyes closed. His handprint was burned into her arm.

Slowly, she took the helm off his head. Lay his body down on the ground. Touching him left scorch marks on her fingertips.

She rested the helm on her lap. Gazed at it.

"Well," she murmured. "Let us see what the dawn brings, hmm?"

* * *

**IaRNaR** - Oh wow, really well spotted! I have to say though, at the time, that was a coincidence. It wasn't until a reviewer mentioned how strange it was that Sabellian had said that that the idea came to me, and, well, the rest is history. :)


	68. One Last Stand

**Chapter Twenty Three**

* * *

The Helm of the Damned was cold around her ears, and Onyxia was everywhere.

She shambled through the trees of Sholazar. She flew far above the mountains of Icecrown and the Storm Peaks. She lurched through the woods of the Howling Fjord. She felt several thousand _hers_, distant like her own hands and feet, in the Eastern Kingdoms and farther south still. The sea was empty. Even the Ambassador — _Sapphiron,_ she heard in her head — and Eduard felt like other _hers_, different _hers_ with minds of their own.

She could take those minds away, if she wanted.

But she did not.

She saw everything at once, and yet saw nothing. Like gazing at something through her peripheral vision she sensed more than saw chaos of colour and movement all over Northrend and Lordaeron. She felt cold all over those thousand _hers_, and yet felt a flare of heat as some distant _her_ combusted and died. Died fighting mercs, probably, or the Argent Dawn.

And yet it was so empty. There were more of her, once. Not thousands, but tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands.

_There are so few left_, said the _her_ that was Eduard. _Lord Fordragon has been busy removing them._

But it wasn't completely empty. In the spaces between the undead, she heard the siren song of the Old Gods, heard voiceless accusations and whispers. _Fordragon wants to kill you. He lured you into the Helm as a trap. Eduard Von Andorhal cannot be trusted. Sapphiron is still loyal to Kel'thuzad. The Reds will eliminate you, kill them all before they kill you, or you will die, and you will fail — _

Easy to ignore. Easy to shut her ears to. But that was now. She hadn't been screamed at for years on end, like Bolvar had — she'd only endured whispers. Like holding up an arm for too long, she could tolerate them now, but it was little wonder Bolvar could not take it any longer.

_They are louder than usual_, said Eduard. _Ever since Chromie came._

_I can hear them properly, now_, said Onyxia. _Like I could in Stormwind. I could recognise their whispers after I came back from the dead, but I couldn't _hear_ them like this any longer._

In the sea of darkness, she sensed a small glow of light. Bolvar. Hidden. Sleeping.

She was not the Lich Queen, not while his body lived in front of her. She was just…

A Steward. The Steward of Northrend.

She rose, and paced the chamber. _Ambassador, where is Sabellian?_

_I teleported us both to the entrance to Naz'anak at Sholazar_, said the Ambassador. _We are safe._

_Did either of you obtain either the Dragon Soul or the Eye of the Watchers?_ said Onyxia.

_No_, said the Ambassador.

_Then we will need to return to Wyrmrest. _Onyxia pressed her lips together. _For now, we risk the pillars. Instead of charging the Eye of the Watchers, we shall create the Lesser Dragon Soul. We need a weapon, after all. We'll find another power source for the Eye._

_You know what it will do to Sholazar_, said the Ambassador.

_We do not have a choice_, said Onyxia. _Eduard. Where are you?_

_At the Sludge Fields_, said Eduard. _Events have… unfolded in an interesting way, Lady._

_Do elaborate, Eduard?_

_There has been an elemental attack_, said Eduard. She felt him underneath a pile of rubble, attempting to shift an enormous slab above him. _At first I thought it just an earthquake, but I heard fighting. The building I was in collapsed. Ah, I have almost shifted this… oh. There's Samia._ Through Eduard's eyes, Onyxia glimpsed Samia through a crack in the rubble.

_What's she doing?_ said Onyxia.

_There's a boy with her_, said Eduard, shoving aside the slab and scrambling out. _He looks pleased with himself._

_That would be Sabellian_, said Onyxia. _The other Sabel. I wonder who snuck up on him this time?_

Eduard yelped. "Sirs! Madams! I mean no harm! I surrender!"

_What's going on?_ said Onyxia.

_Angry humans with crossbows_, said Eduard.

Onyxia shifted into his body.

"Stop!" Samia's voice rang out. Onyxia choked on dust out of habit rather than necessity as she and Eduard's body tumbled out of the rubble. She fell to her knees, and looked up just in time to see several elementals bear down on her. "Stop!"

The elementals stopped.

"Eduard." Samia grinned at her. "It is good to see you — uh." She looked down at Young Sabel, who blinked up at Onyxia. _Hmm_, she heard Eduard remark. _He does resemble Baron Sablemane, no?_

_I can't see it_, said Onyxia. _But I'm not good with human young._

"This might sound crazy but…" Samia gestured at the boy, who blinked at Onyxia.

_Why is he naked?_ said Eduard.

_He does that a lot_, said Onyxia. _Thankfully he grows out of it._

"He sort of…" Samia flailed around a bit.

"That's Sabel," said Onyxia.

Samia stopped. "Huh. So I'm not crazy. But — how?"

Onyxia shrugged. "Time travel."

"Your accent sounds strange," said Samia. "Is that you, Onyxia?"

"Indeed." Onyxia stepped across the ruined courtyard.

"Onyxia!" A voice spat, and Onyxia stopped. She stopped and turned to see —

"Is that _me_?" Onyxia squinted. A woman nursed a sick, familiar-looking youth in her arms. She was missing an eye and her sharp hair was unwashed and cut to her chin, but for all intents and purposes, it was like looking into a mirror. Or rather, what the experience of looking into a mirror would have been like years ago.

"You are Onyxia?" said the woman. "What magic is this?"

"Undead magic," said Samia. "I, uh, forgot to mention to you that Onyxia can possess the dead." She waved her arms around. "Long story."

The woman snarled. "Get away from me."

"Onyxia," said Samia. "This is Katrina Hackett. Once known as Katrina Prestor. Twin sister of — "

"The _real_ Katrana Prestor, whose body you killed and stole." The woman narrowed her eyes. "I allowed your minion to come along, but I have no intentions of playing nice with you. Begone."

"Hmm." Onyxia paused. "I do recall that rogue, Clarisse, mentioning something about the 'real Prestors.' I always thought my father simply stole the hair of some random peasants — and Bolvar did say that the Hacketts — wait, she's a _Hackett?_" Onyxia squinted. "Is that _Richard?_"

"The ever-elusive Mrs Hackett," said Samia. "Carlos is dead. He was the one who told me to go with Katrina."

"What do you want?" Katrina hunched over Richard.

"Your son looks a wreck." Onyxia looked to Samia and Young Sabel. "You should help them. I have someone to speak to while you do."

Samia nodded, approaching Mrs Hackett. Katrina tensed, but allowed her to lay glowing hands on Richard as Young Sabel trotted to the other prisoners.

"Just the bare minimum," said Samia. "We won't have enough mana to treat them all, otherwise."

Onyxia stilled, returning access of the body to Eduard. She closed her eyes.

_Boy?_ she said. _Prince? Where are you? Can you hear me?_

There was a long silence.

_Here_, said a small voice.

_My name is Onyxia_, said Onyxia. _I — _

_I know who you are._ The voice was weak. A child's voice. Or perhaps a young teenager's. _He made you Lich King when I wasn't looking, was he? Oh — not Lich King. Just as good as. I am Wrathion. What do you… what do you want?_

_Are you alright?_ Onyxia prickled in concern.

_Fahrad lost his mind_, said Wrathion. _He — hurt me. Tried to hurt Nalice. She and Katia drove him away._

_Fahrad? Katia?_ said Onyxia. _Who are these people?_

_Katia is a crippled whelpling_, said Wrathion.

_Yes_, said Onyxia. _I recall the crippled whelpling._

_Fahrad is my father_, said Wrathion. _Or — he — was he? Was he not? I'm not pure, am I? I was, but I'm not._

_You never were. I have the Heir of Earth right here._ Through Eduard's eyes, Onyxia glimpsed Young Sabel treating an old, dying woman. _You are with Nalice? Where are you both?_

_Across the river from Ravenholdt_, said Wrathion. _I can sense you. I am to your north east, not far from Alterac Valley._

_We will help. _Onyxia straightened.

_We do not need help!_ Wrathion hissed, but all of a sudden Eduard and Onyxia reeled as pain flared across their face.

_What was that?_ said Eduard, clutching his face. _There's nothing wrong with the skin — _

_It is me_, said Wrathion. _Fahrad clawed me across the face. It still hurts. I — should not have let you feel that._

_Then we need to get to you and soon._ Onyxia was unaware she'd tightened Eduard's fists until he loosened them. _What about Nalice? How is she?_

_Incapable of movement_, said Wrathion. _The screaming won't stop…_

_Stay put_, said Onyxia. _As soon as we're done here, we shall come and get you._

-o-O-o-

After Young Sabel and Samia had done everything their small abilities could for the prisoners, they left them there. "We've already sent a runner to Ravenholdt," said Katrina, eyeing Onyxia distastefully as Samia fidgeted beside her. "They'll come collect us. Michael's under orders to make their lives hell until they come. Go collect your Black Prince, and make sure he never returns to Ravenholdt."

"See if you can pick up the scent," Samia told Young Sabel, and the little whelp had flapped ahead, leg slightly crooked behind him. Everything Onyxia had told Samia about the events of the past night and day sat uneasily in her stomach. "I still can't believe he gave you the damn Helm."

"Neither can I." Every now and then, Onyxia gave a twitch, much like Bolvar used to. "The Old Gods are loud. But I am strong. Heh."

After what felt like hours of walking through scorched grassland and between bare trees, they found them.

Nalice lay on the ground, eyes closed, blood all around her. Another whelpling clutched to the branches of a tree above her. "Is that Jet?" said Samia.

"No," said Onyxia. "This one was present when Serinar died. The boy told me her name is Katia."

"What boy?"

"The one there. The hissing one with the blood on his face."

A boy crouched at the base of the tree, gashes carved in his face, his hand cradled to his bleeding side. His eyes cracked open, revealing red light. "The decoy," said Samia.

"The Black Prince," he said, and attempted to straighten up.

"What happened to you?"

"Fahrad happened," said the Black Prince. "He's my fath — no." He shook his head quickly. "I can't — they won't shut _up_ — "

"Mel." Samia touched Young Sabel's shoulder. "You need to heal them both."

Young Sabel took a step closer to the two of them.

The Black Prince flared, snarling, "Get away from us, you little weak atrocity!"

Young Sabel stopped. Blinked. Hesitated.

Nalice's eye cracked open again. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled. "Father."

Young Sabel looked to her. "Father?" he echoed.

"Don't get all sentimental," said Nalice. "Just heal me."

"Heal...?" Young Sabel looked confused.

Samia touched his shoulder. "The green light. Put it on her."

Young Sabel toddled towards Nalice.

The Black Prince lashed out with a snarl. Young Sabel shrieked. Mud spurted from the earth as an earth elemental erupted and lunged at the Black Prince, driving one head-sized fist into the Black Prince's stomach. Wrathion staggered back, wheezing.

"Stop it!" said Samia.

Young Sabel hesitated. The earth elemental paused as Wrathion collapsed onto the ground, gasping.

"What the fel is going on?" Nalice's voice was weak. "What's gotten into you, Sabellian?"

"Just heal her," Samia nudged Young Sabel to Nalice. "Don't worry about the other one yet."

"I'll hold him down." Onyxia pushed up Eduard's sleeves and started towards Wrathion, who retreated with a hiss. "Where's this Fahrad person gone?"

"I don't know," said Wrathion, wheezing. "But Deathwing is long gone too. The pillars in Sholazar have been attuned. They are ready."

Wrathion spat at her. Onyxia grabbed his wrists and pinned them behind his back, making the whelpling snarl even as he continued to gasp for air.

Young Sabel bent by Nalice's wounds. Slowly, they began to close up in green light. "No, not all of them," said Samia, directing him to the worst ones. "You've only got so much energy. Expend them on the worst ones. Yes, like this one. And that one…"

"It will have to be enough." Nalice dragged herself to all fours, her broken wing still hanging from the bone. "What's wrong with Sabellian?"

"Long story," said Samia.

"That's the Heir of Earth." Onyxia nodded to Young Sabel, as he tentatively approached Wrathion with weakly glowing fingers. Wrathion bared his teeth. "Sabel's past self, actually."

Nalice blinked, once. "_What_."

"We need to meet him," said Onyxia. "The other him. In Sholazar." She looked down at Wrathion. "And we're taking you with us."

Wrathion hissed and spat.

"Neither of you should change forms." Onyxia looked back to Nalice. "Those wounds would kill you if you were in mortal form, and the opposite is also true for you." She gently let Wrathion go. He glowered at Young Sabel, but made no move at him, standing rigid as the Heir healed his stomach. When Mel reached out for Wrathion's face, Wrathion bit him. Young Sabel shrieked, but this time Samia wrenched the boy away before he could summon another elemental.

"Katia's in the tree," said Nalice.

Onyxia looked up. A whelpling sat in the tree hissing at Young Sabel. "Oh. More of you. Come on down from there."

"I'll get her." Samia scrambled up the tree to remove the whelpling. She carefully placed her underneath an arm, still hissing, as Samia descended. "Titans, Nalice, your children are bad tempered. Is Eduard capable of teleporting us all, complete with one big dragon?"

"That I am, lady!" The sudden switch from Onyxia to Eduard was off-putting, Samia thought. "We have that anchor stone we placed at the entrance to Naz'anak in Sholazar. I can teleport us directly there."

"Sabel is waiting for us there," Onyxia's tone and accent came through as if Eduard had never spoke, straightening up. "And the last dredges of the Scourge are gathering on the edges of the Dragonblight. After we have created the Lesser Dragon Soul, we still need to obtain the Eye of the Watchers, and take Young Sabel to the Bronzes."

"How are we going to get the Eye?" said Samia.

"What's left of the Scourge couldn't take on the Wyrmrest Accord, let alone the Wyrmrest Accord and Deathwing's forces." Onyxia rubbed her hands together. "But the Old Gods are always watching. We cannot get the Eye of the Watchers through stealth. We can eliminate the rest of the Scourge through sacrifice. They can buy us time and, besides, I may as well finish the job Bolvar set out to do. I may be able to use the Lesser Dragon Soul without consequence, due to its reduced power. May. It can help us get the Eye of the Watchers."

"And then how do we charge it?" said Samia, but Onyxia had no answer.

"It may only have so much energy." Nalice stretched out her tail. Katia continued to hiss at Young Sabel, underneath Samia's arm. Samia tightened her grip on her. "We must use it sparingly."

"And we will use it to kill Deathwing," said Onyxia. "Hora's instructions in Stormwind were very clear; the rest of the world will not stop hunting us unless we prove ourselves by killing him. Pure or not."

"Can we eat first?" said Samia. "I never thought I'd miss Sholazar fruit but I've kind of been starving for a while now, so."

"The young ones need food as well, especially Katia," said Nalice. "Go on, Eduard. Take us away from here."

-o-O-o-

Beyond the tunnel entrance, Sholazar was muffled. If it weren't for the Scourge Onyxia could sense occasionally dragging themselves through the trees below, she would have thought Eduard had taken them to the wrong place. The Helm felt cold on Onyxia's head.

In the hours before dawn, the tunnel was pitch black. Onyxia heard a flap of wings. Watched one of Nalice's young drift out; not Katia or Wrathion, Onyxia saw, as the whelpling beneath Samia's arm growled again. Actually, the whelpling was quite big. When the whelp's face caught the light, Onyxia smiled as she recognised Jettion.

Wrathion rubbed his blood-streaked face. The boy swayed on the spot.

Nalice's massive form uncurled and pushed its way past. Everyone staggered out of the way as Nalice confronted the open air.

Sholazar was silent, as if it sensed the war in the Dragonblight. Jettion tackled Samia, who smiled and patted him with her free hand. At least, until Jettion and Katia spotted each other and Samia had to pin one under each arm.

Onyxia left Eduard's body and brought her being into her own. She teleported into the cavern beside them, just in time to see Eduard dig around in the soil. He uncovered the massive gem that he'd buried there a long time ago. He weighed the anchor stone in his hand.

"We need a point for the power of the pillars to centre around," said Eduard. "If it cannot be the Eye of the Watchers, then we must use something else." He lifted the gem.

"I understand." Onyxia looked towards the entrance.

Sabel stood there, a silhouette against the starry sky.

"Lady," said Eduard. "Are you certain about this? Once used, the pillars will be depleted. We will not be able to use them to charge the Eye."

"How else do we get to the Eye, when Alexstrasza and her armies stand between us and it?"

"As you wish, my lady." Eduard twitched unhappily, but said no more.

As Nalice approached Sabel, he turned around. His mouth twitched in the echo of a smile as he recognised his daughter and patted her scaled head. She did not protest. "I never thought I would say it, but I am relieved to see you, Nali — what happened to your _wing_?"

"Deathwing happened."

"Hmph. Let me take a look at that." Sabel spared a nod to Onyxia, and stepped to Nalice's side, ignoring his daughter's wincing as he examined it. Katia flapped out from behind the corner on the ground, unable to fly, following Wrathion and glaring at him. Jettion trailed after her, content for now not to attack either of them. "Two more whelplings, I see. Who are they?"

"There's a third around the corner," said Onyxia.

"We have spoken before." Wrathion staggered past Sabellian. Sabel grabbed his shoulder before he could pitch over the edge into the trees below, making Wrathion hiss. "I possessed a cultist."

"Ah. The Black Prince. Please tell me you're not me."

"I'm not you. Apparently I was a decoy all along. Ugh."

"Thank the Titans for that."

"This is Katia." Onyxia nodded at the whelpling on the ground. Onyxia stooped to pick her up. "Another one of Nalice's young. And Samia is around the corner, with the… other you."

"Samia." Sabel straightened just in time for Samia to step into view with Eduard at her shoulder.

She smiled weakly.

Sabel's eyes widened. "What _happened_ to you?"

Onyxia arched an eyebrow and looked at Samia. It took her a moment to realise why Sabel was alarmed. Samia's hair looked ratty, and she had several scratches decorating her face and neck and numerous grazes that hadn't been there two days before. Her face looked far more gaunt than it had been when she'd first come to Naz'anak. Her skin had paled slightly from lack of sun in the Tirisfal woods, and her clothing hung loosely from her skeletal frame. The girl looked emaciated and exhausted.

"Hello, you fucking grump," Samia's smirk had a little more spark to it than it had in Lordaeron. "So turns out you have to save the world or some shit." Sabel's half-smile dropped a notch. "Better you than this guy — hey, where'd he go?" Samia turned around. "Oh. He's hiding. From you. Melanian, meet... Sabel. Er. You."

Onyxia craned her neck to see Young Sabel hiding behind Samia, eyeing his older self warily. He clutched Samia's arm, but his eyes did not move from the elder Sabel.

Sabel said, "You're scrawny." As he spoke, Young Sabel flinched and ducked behind Samia, who chuckled weakly. "Uh. Samia. Is there a reason he doesn't have any clothes on?"

"It turns out when you were young you really _hated_ clothes."

"I don't recall and I shan't ask."

"It's actually really funny. Anyway, he's usually much bolder than this," said Samia. "Probably wondering why you smell like him..." She paused, looking at Sabel. Onyxia flicked her eyes to her brother to see him frowning, deeply. "What's wrong?"

"We need to keep him in a safe place," said Sabel. "If we don't, Deathwing will hurt him."

Everyone exchanged glances.

"But if he does that, the fabric of the universe will collapse, et cetera," said Onyxia. She gestured to the black tears among the trees below. "Haven't you noticed all those? If he kills the other you that means going down with the ship. That's why the Old Gods left your younger self alone; they must have figured out they'd only kill themselves if they hurt him. Deathwing's left your other self alone up until now, why would that change?"

Nalice cleared her throat. "My _wing_, father?"

"Hmm." Sabel returned to Nalice's side, gesturing at Samia to help him.

"Where do we hide your younger self?" said Nalice. "We cannot leave him alone with Wrathion or Jettion. Unsupervised, they will hurt him."

"Like the Flight's always tried to harm me," Sabel mused. Young Sabel approached tentatively, watching, as his elder self got to work setting the break in Nalice's wing. Nalice hissed. "We need to put him away safely. Somehow."

"Are you remembering something?" Samia tilted her head.

Sabel paused in his healing, watching Samia. "I don't know if it's a memory or just a dream."

"A dream?" said Onyxia. Something niggled at her memory. "It can't be a memory..." She looked to Young Sabel, who was weakly attempting to heal Nalice's snout. Nalice rolled her eyes, but let him. "He's too young, barely a newborn. You're ten thousand; not even humans remember being infants and they only live a few decades. But... a dream, you say? Perhaps..."

"Perhaps you could have dreamed about memories as you grew up," Samia quietly ventured.

Sabel didn't look at any of them. "I think I did. I know I dreamed about _you_, on multiple occasions, and always wondered why I could not find you."

"What did you dream about?" said Onyxia. "Whether it was just a dream or a memory, we should know. We need to be prepared."

"Don't you remember, Onyxia?" said Sabel. "I told you about it."

Onyxia blinked. "You did?"

"Yes." Sabel gently nudged his younger self from Nalice's head, and healed up his daughter's snout. Nalice stretched her repaired wing. "I had the dreams when I was a drake. I forgot the memories during my whelphood, because I have a little recollection of my whelphood but nothing of this, or what Chromie spoke of. But when Deathwing turned on the other Aspects during the War of the Ancients, when he killed my moth — my _adopted_ mother, when he killed his mates, when the Demon Soul mutilated his body... I saw him, and it triggered memories. They must have been memories; they were so vivid I actually spend hundreds of years..." He rubbed the side of his head, looking down.

"I remember!" Onyxia snapped upright. "You said you — " She looked to Young Sabel, watching his older self with big eyes. "Oh."

"What?" said Samia.

"What are you two going on about?" Nalice snapped, shrinking into her human form. Young Sabel waved his glowing hands at Wrathion, who snarled and took a step back. The elder Sabel caught Wrathion, gently waving magic over the Black Prince's face. Wrathion flinched and hissed as his wounds sealed up. "Are you going to enlighten the rest of us or not?"

"When Sabel was a drake, he had nightmares that Deathwing had caught him," said Onyxia. "Dreams that he was a whelpling and Deathwing tried to kill him. He said a vrykul tried to save him — " she paused. "Yes, that vrykul, the shaman. The one you went looking for after you had those dreams, which inspired you to learn the shamanistic arts. You never found her."

"I did," said Sabel, still looking down as he wiped his bloody hands on his side. "I thought she was a vrykul, but she wasn't. Humans weren't around then." He looked up, then, at Samia. "Do you remember me speaking to you when you were sick?"

"When I was sick?" Samia blinked, lost.

"After the gronn attacked you, back when we met," said Sabel. "You were badly injured, and your injuries became infected. It was a miracle you survived at all. I used to talk to you in your fits. Sometimes you'd wake up, but you were barely lucid, you probably don't remember..."

"I do," said Samia. "You said you'd been waiting for me. Remember Ruaan Weld? You used to watch me, it was weird. You'd sit on the cliff face and just stare at me."

"You never wondered why I did that to begin with?"

"I thought it was Jettion." Samia glanced at the whelpling in question. "I thought you could tell I was Dragonsworn, but even then... I kind of wondered why it was taking you so long to approach me."

"I was so sure..." Sabel rubbed his hairline, screwing his eyes shut. "I was so sure you were a pure dragon. I knew it was you who tried to save me from Deathwing in the dream, I recognised you. The image was as clear as a bell and I never forgot it. But I had no idea... I couldn't explain... I thought I must have made the memory up, must have convinced myself that it was you, because when I saw you in Ruaan Weld, you were mortal, you were human. How could you have lived ten thousand years? Even if you were a dragon, how could I have spent ten thousand years and never seen you once? Some dragons could disguise their scent but even though you were badly injured and weak, you never shifted." His shoulders sagged. He looked at Samia. "Well. Now I know the answer."

"So!" said Nalice. "Let me get this straight. Little you got kidnapped by Deathwing and Samia tried to rescue you, you forgot it, remembered later, went all sentimental and stupid and tried looking for her. That would be cute if it wasn't so pathetic. But, little you hasn't been kidnapped by Deathwing yet, so we can assume it's yet to happen, and since it's _Inkling_ who tried to save you, we can safely assume she'll screw it up."

Sabel looked at Nalice. "I'm still alive, am I not?"

"Hm. I suppose you have a point."

"But why would Deathwing risk his own existence when he hasn't before?" said Onyxia. "He stopped pursuing your younger self. He captured your _elder_ self, and had you watched by Seldarria. Capturing _you_ wouldn't damage the universe at all, because it wouldn't break the paradox. But why did he change his mind?"

"He panicked." Sabel looked out across the canopy of trees below.

"Panicked?" said Onyxia. "Why?"

"Because in the dream," said Sabel, "he was dying."

There was a long pause.

"Well," said Nalice. "Since we still exist, I think it is safe to assume that Samia did not mess it up completely."

"We can't leave him behind," said Onyxia. "I'll keep Young Sabel with me."

"She means you." Samia nudged Young Sabel.

"Jettion can stay with Samia," Onyxia went on. Jettion seemed content enough to flutter beside Samia; he'd known her more than Onyxia, Onyxia realised with a shallow pang. "Wrathion, you stay with Sabellian. And Katia — " she paused. Maybe it would be a better idea if the whelpling with the broken legs stayed with Sabel. "Actually — "

"She is with me," said Nalice with a cold stare.

"Fine." Onyxia looked to Eduard. "Now we make the Lesser Dragon Soul."

"It is a trap," said Wrathion.

Everyone paused, and looked to him.

"Deathwing is coming," he said. "He abandoned Nalice as soon as he heard the pillars were ready. He's on his way. When you go down there and make that weapon, he will attack."

"Well," said Sabel. "We always knew the Old Gods were watching. It's always been a risk."

"He will be nearby by now," said Wrathion. "You took too much time healing those prisoners and searching for me. We will need your elementals." He glared at Sabel.

"Indeed," said Sabel.

"We must go ahead with it anyway," said Onyxia. "I don't see what alternative we have. Each pillar represents a dragonflight, represents a power from each Titan. The pillars have already been attuned. All we need is for the Ambassador to place Eduard's anchor stone. Then… we attack Wyrmrest."

Nalice sighed, and pressed her hand to her forehead. "Well! It was nice knowing you all, but it looks like we're all about to die from _complete and utter stupidity._"

"Do you have a better idea, Nalice?"

"Yes. How about 'anything but this?'"

"We need the Eye of the Watchers and we'll have the power of the entirety of Sholazar Basin backing us up," said Sabellian. "So long as Onyxia doesn't drop the Lesser Dragon Soul, we should be fine."

"So long as _Deathwing doesn't rip it from her grasp_. Has everyone conveniently forgotten that this is a trap?" Nalice looked at Wrathion. "Where is Deathwing?"

He blinked, once, and licked his lips. "Borean Tundra. Right at the border. He's waiting."

"There you go, he is already here!" Nalice spread out her hands. "When he takes it, Onyxia cannot fight back."

"We have the Frostwyrms behind us," said the Ambassador. "There are some very close by." Onyxia could feel them, and commanding them to approach the basin was as easy as lifting her own hand. "We need only distract Deathwing long enough to get away — "

"And then, what, have him bear down on us?"

"I prayed to the elementals to keep him from catching up to you," said Sabellian.

"And it worked." Wrathion snorted. "For a certain amount of time. It would give us all time to escape to Wyrmrest. By then…" He tilted his head. "It will almost be dawn." He sneered. "An Obsidian Dawn. Indeed."

"What is Deathwing doing now?" said Onyxia.

Wrathion tilted his head. "Waiting."

Onyxia pressed her lips together. "What of Seldarria?"

"Leading the siege at Wyrmrest."

"We go, then. Now." She looked around her. "We'll leave the whelplings here except for Young Sabel, it's easier that way. We can't take them all with us, but neither can we leave Young Sabel with them."

"I am certainly not staying behind." Wrathion crossed his arms and glared.

"Fine. But you're travelling separate, boy." Onyxia looked to Sabellian. "Keep your elementals at the ready, slow him down and speed us up. Nalice, keep out of Deathwing's way. Sabel, you take the Glimmering Pillar; you're needed to activate it because of its corruption, it was what they wanted you there for all along. Eduard, you take Skyreach, it seems fitting as it belongs to the Blues and you're a mage. Nalice, take what's left of the Lifeblood. Samia, Mosslight. I'll take Suntouched. Ambassador, I need you to take the anchoring stone to the centre of Sholazar, where the magic can coalesce around it. I expect they'll all be easy to activate, it would have been set up to allow the cultists to do it. If any of you have any trouble, send a signal. Samia, stay down when Deathwing appears and keep Young Sabel with you."

"Nalice," said Sabel. "Take the others to their pillars on your back. I want a word with Onyxia first. We'll see you down there."

Nalice snorted. Samia blinked, but shrugged.

Nalice insisted upon taking Katia and Wrathion with her; Onyxia did not protest. As she, the Ambassador and Eduard departed with Samia and most of the whelps, they left Sabel and Onyxia at the cave mouth, alone except for Jettion and Young Sabel, who watched.

The elder Sabel gave Onyxia a critical look.

Onyxia said, "What?"

"Are you sure this will work?" said Sabel.

"Of course I'm not," said Onyxia. "But the facts remain — we have a limited amount of time before the Old Gods' minions try to kill you. Your younger self may be in danger. The whelps are controlling themselves for now, but they may go back to trying to kill each other at any moment. Bolvar has gone under. What choice do we _have_?"

Sabel crossed his arms. "And how do we get the Eye from Alexstrasza? There's... what? Four adult dragons, one dragonspawn and four whelps against two entire armies. Oh, by the way, these armies contain Old God minions of varying strength and four Aspects."

"We have the Scourge."

"What's left of it."

"One thing our Flight needs to learn is that the strongest army isn't always the best one," said Onyxia. "We do not need to be the strongest. We need to be the fastest and the smartest."

"And in the meantime, the Old Gods are in everyone's heads listening to everyone's plans. Oh, and Deathwing's sitting right on the border waiting for us."

"Do you understand, Sabel, that the moment you activate that pylon you will no longer be valuable to him?"

Sabel crossed his arms and looked away.

Finally, he said, "I've survived worse." Then, "Well, no. But. I've survived close to worse."

"Do you remember what you did to the Sludge Fields?"

"I don't remember _any_ of this, just snatches of dreams I had of it later!"

"You levelled the entire Sludge Fields," said Onyxia. "Your younger self is only a few weeks old at most and he single handedly destroyed a Forsaken settlement. You wiped out a village once by accident. You are so powerful because you're the only breath of fresh air, the calm in a storm, for every elemental in this world, so when you so much as breathe they leap to your defence. What are you capable of?"

"Yes, and I suppose I just didn't conjure an army earlier because it would be too convenient, despite the fact we were hemmed in by the Red Dragonflight, Deathwing's forces and, at one point, the Lich King himself." Sabel rolled his eyes. "Do you think if I was capable of this I wouldn't have invoked this power sooner?"

"Maybe you didn't know you had it," said Onyxia.

Sabel paused. He pressed his lips together. Looked away.

"Have you ever tapped into the full extent of your power?" said Onyxia. "There have been times you came close. At Drak'tharon, when Lirastrasza attacked, we all escaped when you brought out the elementals. Your younger self wiped out a Forsaken settlement by accident just by breaking his leg. What could you do? Do you actually have any idea of your limits, of what you are capable of?"

Sabel curled his hand into a loose fist. Pressed it against his mouth in thought. "I..." His frown deepened. "I don't know. I just... I've just asked the elements or spirits for help when I needed it, never tried to... find how far I could go, find out how many of them would answer. Why would I? I never did this for power, never found myself so trapped in a corner I needed more than what was available to me."

"Deathwing is going to die," said Onyxia, softly. "You dreamed about it, didn't you?"

"I dreamed he was dying," said Sabel. "That doesn't mean he did die. He could have survived. He survived earlier, when everyone thought he was dead, didn't he? The Bronzes could have been the ones to rescue me. Perhaps they stopped time and plucked me from his claws, who knows? They've preserved the paradox this far. And even if Deathwing dies, that doesn't mean the Old Gods will be stopped. That doesn't mean _we_ were the ones to kill Deathwing. And Onyxia, if it's not us that kills Deathwing, it doesn't matter if we purify the world. The Red Dragonflight needs to see us kill him to believe we are on their side."

"I know," said Onyxia. "Alexstrasza will not listen to us until she is pure, but she will not dare trust our word unless we prove it by killing him."

Sabel crossed his arms and looked out over Sholazar. He sighed. "It's never been easy."

"No. Why would it be?" Onyxia raised a hand to move it through her hair, but it met the cold metal of the Helm of the Damned. "Every step of this journey has been agonising. Every setback, every failure — no victories. No true victories."

"We have me," Sabel murmured. "We have the little one. Nalice is still alive. And there are female Blackwhelps out there that we can make sure grow up. Those are little victories. But Onyxia, what do we do when this is done?"

"Live happily ever after?" Onyxia suggested with a smirk.

"I'm not a Black Aspect," said Sabel. "I have been persecuted by the Black Dragonflight for most of my life, and now, all of a sudden, I'm expected to lead them?"

Onyxia shrugged. "The Heart of Earth needs a pure bearer."

"If you were alive it could be you." Sabel rubbed his forehead, still frowning. Onyxia paused. She'd never seen her brother... her not-brother, she realised, look so vulnerable before. "I'm no leader, Onyxia. All I do is train dragonsworn and keep to myself. And survive. That's all I know. Throughout all of this, it's been you who kept us together, you who kept Nalice in line, you who chose to take the risks by trusting Eduard and Bolvar Fordragon. Not me."

"Well," said Onyxia. "We could pull a Stormwind and just have you be a puppet ruler and I rule behind the scenes, yes?"

Sabel paused.

He stared at her.

He covered his mouth to suppress a laugh, causing Onyxia's eyebrows to rise. "Well." He lowered his hand, his lips twitching as he fought a smile. "We could always try that. I'd much rather be a figurehead than an actual leader. Besides, if the mortal races found out you were the real leader of the Black Dragonflight, they might start another war."

Onyxia smirked. "Come on, Sabel. It's time to finish this."

Beyond, in the trees, Onyxia saw a beam of red light.

"That would be the Lifeblood Pillar," said Sabel. "Or what's left of it. Nalice has done her part."

"Anyone could see that for miles," said Onyxia. "We better finish this quickly." She gestured to young Sabel. "Come with me. It is time I tested my new wings."

-o-O-o-

The top of the Bronze's pillar was not what it had been the last time Onyxia had flown over Sholazar, a century or so ago. Where before it had been lit up with only a few yellow crystals — or what could pass for yellow through the purple filter of Onyxia's crystal eyes − dozens of them now illuminated the top, all of them carved and inscribed with runes. There was no space to land. She cradled the Helm in her claws - with it there, her connection to the Scourge was as thin as a thread, but she dared not banish it to the Nether while she flew.

She carefully hovered above, and transformed. Her human form landed heavily on the grass as the Helm clattered beside her. She yanked it over her head, and soothed the Scourge, made restless by her brief absence. Young Sabel fluttered at her shoulder.

In the centre of the pillar stood a massive relic; a crystal bigger than the rest. The designs on it were far more complicated than the gems surrounding it. The other crystals radiated out in layers of circles in a pattern indecipherable from the ground.

Onyxia stepped over the smallest of totems, careful not to step on any. Beyond, red light illuminated the night, casting the trees in strange shadows. A blue beam flickered to life, and joined it. From here, she could hear the dim roar of waterfalls. Green flared to life.

"Just this one, and the Glimmering Pillar, then," said Onyxia. Young Sabel watched impassively.

She reached out, and touched the centre crystal.

It flared bright; so bright that had she had living eyes, Onyxia would have had to cover them. She stepped to the side, watching as a bronze beam lit up the night and darkened the shadows, pushing through the air to River's Heart.

Onyxia waited.

It seemed like forever until a white light joined the rest. But afterwards, nothing happened.

"It's not pure enough," said Onyxia. "He's going to have to put his own power into it to support it - "

The white light flickered. Changed. Shifted, until the white darkened to purple.

"There," said Onyxia. "There. He's done it."

The night went black as all five lights vanished. Young Sabel squeaked and clutched Onyxia's robes.

Something yellow glimmered in the trees beyond.

_It is done_, came the Ambassador's voice in Onyxia's head. _We have the Lesser Dragon Soul. What now?_

The sky went red.

_Now_, said Onyxia, _we outrun Deathwing one last time._

* * *

_**A/N**: There may be a week's break in uploading, either next week or the week after - the end of the semester's coming up and I have literally a dozen assignments due, yeesh._


	69. An Obsidian Dawn

_**A/N: **Apologies for missing two weeks instead of just the one. Either way, the semester's over, and I have more time for TOD. :)_

* * *

**Chapter Twenty Four**

* * *

The helm obscured Onyxia's field of vision. If only she could take it off — but she didn't dare take it off too often. Through its narrow field of view she watched as dim, red light chased away the darkness.

Blackness eclipsed the red sky. Blackness with wings that touched both horizons, and a head bigger than a house. Deathwing bore down on them, his maw glowing orange.

_Ambassador_, Onyxia called out. _Do you have it?_

Through his eyes she glimpsed a flash of gold, felt the wind against the bones of his wings as his claws closed over the object in front of him. _I have it_.

_Flee_, she said.

_I cannot_, he said. _Not from the Destroyer. He is too fast for any of us._

He dived. His head hit the water with a thundering splash. He spread his wings again, heavy in the water, and wriggled down deeper. Orange illuminated the black water and Onyxia felt the temperature of the water sear at his back. Through her own eyes she saw the stream of fire erupt from Deathwing's mouth, and a cloud of steam as the water boiled.

A flare of panic seared her. _Can you tolerate high temperatures?_

_Do you think your Flight is the only one that can swim in magma? _The Ambassador snorted. _Besides, I'm dead. Call the frostwyrms, hurry, get them to distract him!_

She called for them.

As the Ambassador had promised earlier, the frostwyrms lurked on nearby peaks and dived from them, wings snapping open to catch the air and soaring towards Deathwing.

A thud and crunch beside her made her jump back into her body. Sabellian looked down at her as a dragon, gems crushed underfoot.

The frostwyrms appeared, the shadows of the red glow making their forms horrific. _Kill him_, said Onyxia. _Distract him, at all costs — _In the whirling blackness of River's Heart, the Ambassador wriggled ever deeper into the water. Deathwing hovered above the surface and hissed.

"Onyxia?" said Sabellian. Over his shoulder, Nalice hovered in the air, whelplings in her arms and Samia watching from her back.

One of the frostwyrms made a dive for Deathwing's injured eye.

_Get out of there, Ambassador_, said Onyxia.

"Onyxia?" said Sabellian again.

"What are you waiting for?" Onyxia glared at him. "_Go_. Get the elements to help you."

"I can force Deathwing into the water — "

"No, set him on Wyrmrest. We still need to reclaim the Eye of the Watchers. He can distract them for us."

Nalice turned and fled. Sabellian nodded and took off after her.

The Ambassador splashed as he exited the water, with Deathwing writhing at the frostwyrms above him. As Deathwing caught sight of him, he lunged with his jaws, snapping his teeth shut — but the Ambassador swerved away like a streak of blue. The other frostwyrms continued their assault but Deathwing screwed his eyes shut to protect them and tilted his head to hear. His massive wings beat, bearing him down swiftly on the Ambassador.

A massive set of claws came out and caught the Ambassador, sending him into the trees. _So much for that idea_, said the Ambassador, a second before his bones exploded apart from the impact.

The last Onyxia saw of the Lesser Dragon Soul was a glimmer of gold falling, falling, and then obscured by Deathwing's bulk.

_Protect it!_ she called out to the frostwyrms, but they were no match. One vainly plucked at Deathwing's closed eyes until his jaws broke it apart. Another shattered on the ground with a swing of Deathwing's arm.

The Lesser Dragon Soul glimmered in his claws.

Onyxia roared In frustration. _Not now! We've had too many setbacks for this — _She hissed as red hot fury obscured her vision.

No. This wouldn't do. She forced herself to calm, forced her fists and jaws to unclench, forced herself to straighten.

They could work around this. She was a Black dragon, and Black dragons improvised. _Deathwing with a Lesser Soul will make a bigger, better distraction for the Reds._

A golden beam disintegrated another frostwyrm where it hovered in the air.

Onyxiahissed. _And of course, it's power is too small to hurt him as he uses it. Frostwyrms, to me! Get me out of here!_

Another frostwyrm turned into ashes in the air. The last one left swept down on Onyxia, winding her as it snatched her from the pillar and bore her away. A golden shimmer thundered past them both, narrowly missing them.

The elements of the air were waiting; they embraced the frostwyrm, lifting her wings and sending her soaring faster than Onyxia had ever travelled. With one hand Onyxia gripped the forearm that cradled her, and with the other she kept the Helm tight on her head. _Dragonblight_, she told the undead. _Head to Dragonblight._

Claws clutched her in an iron grip. The Borean Tundra had already appeared underneath her. The tears caused by Young Sabel's near-drowning passed by in black streaks.

_Lady_? said Eduard Von Andorhal. Onyxia sensed him in the hallways of Wyrmrest Temple, standing over the body of a Forsaken mercenary as he pulled a stolen tabard over his head. _Lady, I sense your distress. What has happened?_

It only took a few transmitted images — the Ambassador breaking, frostwyrms falling out of the sky in pieces and beams of light — to get the message across. For the first time, Onyxia heard Eduard swear. _The plan, lady?_

The elementals lifted them further into the air to pass, harmlessly, over another yellow beam. _We're bringing him to Wyrmrest. Let our enemies take each other out. Deathwing has enough power they'll be too busy with him to bother with us._

_I thought the goal was to make peace with Wyrmrest, not anger them further?_ said Eduard.

_At the rate of success we have had_, said Onyxia, _it may simply be more prudent to allow our enemies to wipe each other out before either of them get to us._

_I am… not certain whether or not you jest, my lady._ Eduard wrung his hands.

_The Obsidian Dawn are headed in your direction_, said Onyxia. _Let the mercenaries and Reds take care of Deathwing. I need a vantage point — get to the top of the temple and watch the battle. You're a mage, make yourself invisible if anyone flies too close._

_My lady, the roof of the temple has been blown off_, said Eduard. _The Dragonqueen is in the highest possible vantage point._

Oh for the love of — _Then what can we do?_

_I can teleport to the Emerald Dragonshrine_, said Eduard. _It hugs the coast — there are no Twilights there, and we can mobilise the Scourge without detection._

_I'll sent them in your direction, then. _Onyxia closed her eyes.

The call went out, again. The frostwyrm carrying Onyxia minutely adjusted course. Far away, even Bolvar twitched. The Ambassador struggled to answer — Onyxia found his disembodied head in Sholazar, cushioned in the mud. She feld Eduard's relief.

_I'll patch you up when this is done_, Onyxia promised him.

_I hope so_, said the Ambassador, _I do not plan on spending the rest of my existence as a head. You are aware it would take weeks or even months for all the Scourge to mobilise?_

_We mobilise as many as possible_. Onyxia tightened her grip on the frostwyrm. _And wait until we cannot any longer._

The journey to the Dragonblight seemed to take forever. The beams of light came less and less, until Deathwing fell behind. Not soon enough, the mountains surrounding the Dragonblight appeared and the frostwyrm deposited Onyxia on a ledge above the Obsidian Dragonshrine, before lifting itself back up into the air.

Onyxia felt a wave of heat. Looking down, she saw the Obsidian Dragonshrine had flooded with magma.

She found the rest of the Obsidian Dawn on the edge of a precipice, watching the battlefield in their human forms. The whelplings clustered around her, glaring at each other as Katia sat on Nalice's foot.

Samia scraped ash off the ground and shoved it into her pockets. "Look at it," said Samia to Sabel, rubbing the ash between her fingers. It dissolved into a fine cloud. "It's not vanishing powder, but I don't think it'd be a half-bad substitute, so if it comes to it I can — "

"Onyxia." Sabel, between Samia and Nalice, looked over his shoulder. "Samia and I have been making a plan. We're going to lure Thrall out and attack him from the air." Sabel gestured to the frostwyrm that circled above, higher than even the Twilights that circled the temple.

Onyxia watched the battlefield through the frostwyrm. Several gaping maws had opened up in the snow and ice. Tentacled servants of the Old Gods surged the Temple's lower level, kept at bay behind a barricade of corpses by mercs of all races. Drakes swerved and battled in the air. Two Alliance gunships hovered in the air, fighting off drakes.

"They'll expect that," said Onyxia. "They'll keep Thrall under cover where dragons can't get to — hold on." She looked through the frostwyrms eyes. "… Wow. That's stupid, even for them."

"What?" said Sabel.

"See the Queen's chamber, where the roof was blown off?" Thrall stood in the centre of the Aspects, surrounded by mercs as they fended off Twilight drakes. "They're all standing there, exposed. What moron decided that spot was a good idea? They're conducting a ritual around the Dragon Soul — maybe they're making it safer for Thrall to use, I don't know."

"Does that mean _we_ can use it without consequence?"

"We are not mortals. I do not know. Either way…" Onyxia withdrew from the frostwyrms. "They are complete and utter fools to be conducting it in the open — see that? There's a big Twilight dragon bearing down on them now."

"Is that Seldarria?"

"No. She's behind him."

"Where's Lirastrasza?"

"I can't see her. She's blind now, though. Think she'll be much of a threat?"

Sabel patted his bad leg. "Think _I'm_ a threat?"

"She's _newly_ blinded. You've been dealing with that since — " Onyxia gestured to Young Sabel, who sat on Samia's shoulder as a whelp, staring at his older self with big eyes.

"But don't underestimate her." Sabellian looked back out over the Dragonblight. "The Eye of the Watchers is still with Alexstrasza. We need to get in there and grab it. Somehow. Could you use the frostwyrms?"

"Our scout is the only one left and…" A massive Twilight dragon fell from the sky. "And given that the mercs just took out a dragon twice her size, I'm not certain using her is prudent — " the scene went dark as something passed over the sun. A beam of yellow light took out five drakes on both sides. Deathwing tackled an Alliance gunship, making it plummet to the ground. The yellow beam turned on them. The Twilight forces on board evaporated, but the mercs screamed in agony.

"Interesting," said Sabellian. "The beam obviously hurts the mercs, but to a lesser extent. Mortals have less corruption than dragons, do they not? That causes me to theorise that — "

"Sabellian, now is not the time," Nalice remarked. Then, after a beat, she said, "I thought that tackle was _impressive_."

On the top floor of the temple, through the frostwyrm's eyes, Onyxia caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in a blue tabard.

"Sabel," said Onyxia. "Get your elementals ready. Summon as many as you can, of all kinds."

"But — " said Sabel.

_Lesliora_, she called out.

Lesliora scanned the sky. Onyxia made her presence obvious as she settled in behind the death knight's eyes, but Lesliora did not object. _Yes, Lady Onyxia?_

Thrall stood eight yards away from her, surrounded by the Aspects. _Lesliora, I need you to take the Dragon Soul off Thrall._

Lesliora snorted, scanning her surroundings. Onyxia saw Leonardo Withering with the Brotherhood of Cinders, mingling with the Frostmoon Federation and a Horde guild with a green tabard. _Are you joking? I will be swarmed the moment I take it!_

_I'll get backup_, said Onyxia. Aloud, she said, "Sabellian, I need you to summon as many elementals as you can. All kinds. Lesliora is about to go toe-to-toe with four Aspects, one shaman and three guilds."

Her words echoed through the bond. Lesliora said, _I don't believe this. Where is Bolvar? I better get paid for this._

_He's indisposed_, said Onyxia.

_Great_, said Lesliora.

_Lady_, Eduard Von Andorhal cut in. _I am pondering the wisdom of amassing an army in a basin that people can look into but not out of, because I believe the Old Gods have taken notice of us; drakes have been flying overhead._

_How many Scourge have you got?_ said Onyxia. _There's more coming._

_Only those immediately nearby_, said Eduard. _There was an immediate influx of about a hundred from the nearby Scarlet Crusade camps, but in the hour it took for you to get to the Dragonblight there's only been a trickle of around fifty more. There hasn't been enough time._

_Will they listen to you?_

_I've always had a portion of Lord Fordragon's power_, said Eduard. _I will do what I can._

_Then you may as well take out as many Twilight servants as you can_, said Onyxia. _But be careful and last as long as you can. If you can only distract them, then — distract them._

_Yes, my Lady_, said Eduard.

_Ahem?_ said Lesliora. _Thrall has only a few minutes left on that ritual — _The appearance of a fresh wave of drakes cut her off.

_One moment._ Onyxia looked to Sabel. She opened her mouth to say his name, but his eyes were closed, a frown of concentration marring his forehead. Samia touched his arm.

An icy wind stirred.

Sabel opened his eyes. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple. "I wanted to see if I could do it again."

"Do what?" said Onyxia.

The battlefield exploded in ice and rubble. Clouds of dirt and mist obscured the ground soldiers as elementals — as big as houses, twice as big, three times — erupted. A wind that Onyxia could barely feel battered the drakes from the sky, sending them plummeting. The top of the Temple was left untouched, leaving the mercs standing. Onyxia's frostwyrm shrieked and landed behind her with a heavy thud.

"That," said Sabel.

"Fuck," said Samia. "We could have wiped the floor with them on day one this way!"

"I could have wiped Stormwind off the map," Onyxia muttered.

"I…" Sabel clasped his hands nervously. "I did not know I could go this far. I never pushed myself to my limit. Never had to use more than what was available to me. But there's more coming — I called them, and more and more keep coming."

The battlefield filled up; water, earth, fire, air, ice and more surged to attack the Twilights and the servants of the Old Gods.

"Avoid the Black drakes," said Onyxia. "We need them to survive this war."

Wrathion's words were a murmur. "Deathwing is coming."

The elementals of the air swarmed Deathwing, the only figure left flying as the second Alliance gunship crashed to the ground. His massive head turned towards the Obsidian Dawn.

Onyxia yanked Jettion and Katia out of the air. The frostwyrm picked her up and lifted her into the air. Nalice transformed in the blink of an eye, seizing the last two whelplings and Samia, kicking off from the ground. The air elementals formed a protective bubble around their groups, keeping them aloft as their brethren tore at Deathwing in a furious gale.

"Sabel!" Onyxia's words were snatched away in the air as Sabel continued to stand on the spot, watching Deathwing struggle through the air towards him. "What are you _doing_?"

Sabel smiled as Deathwing finally reached him. Deathwing's massive wings beat faster than they ever had in his struggle against the air.

"I have you now," said Deathwing.

Sabel _grinned_.

Deathwing held up the Lesser Dragon Soul and blasted Sabel in light.

Samia screamed. The frostwyrm roared in an echo of Onyxia's pain as she watched, eyes wide.

The elementals increased their attack. Deathwing roared. The Lesser Dragon Soul's assault was forced to stop as Deathwing finally succumbed to the air and crashed to the ground.

From where he had crumpled to the ground, Sabellian casually stood up, dusted himself down and looked down on himself.

"_What?_" said Onyxia.

_I've been listening_, said the Ambassador. _The mortals on that gunship did not immediately die like the Twilights did when Deathwing attacked, but they felt the pain. It did not affect them as much because mortals have less corruption than Twilights and dragons. And Sabellian — _

_Is completely pure_, Onyxia said, watching her not-brother with wide eyes. _He has no corruption to feel the pain. So — what? Is the Dragon Soul like the Eye of the Watchers?_

_I think so, but in different ways,_ said the Ambassador. _The Dragon Soul is the weaponised version of the Eye of the Watchers, I believe — it burns away corruption, where the Eye simply washes it away._

_Lady_, said Lesliora. _The ritual is complete. Thrall can use it at will now without hurting himself, but it's only attuned to him. There's no point me getting it for you, it'll just tear you apart the same as everyone else. Let him kill Deathwing._

Onyxia looked down. Deathwing fought a wave of water elementals, screaming even as they hissed into steam on his hot hide. Through Lesliora's eyes, Onyxia watched Thrall approach the edge of the platform, the Dragon Soul in one hand. The Aspects followed at his flank. Seldarria hovered barely out of range, watching.

_No!_ said Onyxia. _Take it from him, we have to be the ones to kill Deathwing or we'll always be hunted! The Bronze Flight explicitly said so!_

On top of the platform, Nozdormu turned to look at Lesliora.

_Deathwing needs to die_, said Lesliora. _It doesn't matter who does it — _

Onyxia muffled her protests and forced herself into every atom of Lesliora's body. _I am sorry, Lesliora, but it must be done._ She made the half-elf's legs run, made her arms pump the air, made her push between Nozdormu and Ysera —

_What are you doing?_ Lesliora screamed.

— and tackled Thrall, sending them both off the edge.

Thrall roared. The ground grew bigger as the two of them spun, blurring Lesliora's vision. Their plummet grew faster, faster, and a glimmer of gold separated from Thrall's hand —

Slower, slower —

The elementals of the air caught them, lowering them safely to the ground.

"Dammit Sabel," said Onyxia. "The elements are supposed to be on our side."

"I thought you wanted the Dragon Soul?" Sabel's voice made her jump. She returned to her body to find him hovering beside them, their bubbles joined. "If Thrall dies, anyone can pick it up. Let him guard it a few minutes more."

"But he dropped — "

Sabel flew off, making for a space behind Deathwing.

_I am going to kill you_, Lesliora growled as she sprung away from Thrall as if his body burned her. Even as Lesliora gushed panicked explanations and apologies to the orc, Onyxia watched the Aspects take to the air only to be caught by the elements, and forced to the ground. Lirastrasza appeared as if from nowhere, sniffing the air and tilting her head to let her other senses guide her. The Aspects searched the snow for the Dragon Soul.

Deathwing turned, and saw them. Even as he bore down on them on all four legs he opened his mouth to roar; a water elemental surged inside and made him scream. Another snatched the Lesser Soul from his claws and sped away. Onyxia searched the ground and saw the greater Dragon Soul on top of a hard-packed drift.

A purple streak rushed to it.

Seldarria picked up the Dragon Soul.

Onyxia bid her frostwyrm deposit her on the ground. As she landed, the whelplings stuck to her. "Seldarria!"

Seldarria turned to Onyxia. She grinned. "I don't think so, Onyxia."

A beam of golden light obliterated her, turning her to ash. Onyxia turned to see Sabellian holding the Lesser Soul, grinning and whooping as he held it up. A loyal water elemental stood beside him, looking as proud as an elemental could. "Somebody gave me a present!" said Sabel.

Thrall dived for the Dragon Soul left in Seldarria's curling ashes. He aimed it at Sabellian. "Don't make me kill you."

"It won't work on me," said Sabellian. "But your Aspects are surrounding us. Miss me and hit them, and then you'll be sorry."

Onyxia started towards them. Thrall whirled around and aimed it at her. The whelplings froze even as Onyxia did.

"I do not want this," said Thrall. "Tell Sabellian to put his weapon down. You are surrounded, Onyxia."

The Aspects flanked Sabel and Onyxia, tensed up like coiled springs.

"Don't," said Onyxia. "I'm dead, Sabel, you don't need me."

Sabellian dropped the Lesser Soul.

"Dammit, Sabel."

"You lied." Thrall relaxed, looking at Onyxia. "You said you regretted everything you'd done, and you _lied_. And now you wear the Helm of the Damned itself."

Ysera lunged for Sabellian, who dodged just in time and shifted into dragon form. Onyxia forced her gaze away from them and onto Thrall.

"Because of what you did," said Thrall, "you and your kin will always be hunted."

Alexstrasza and Lirastrasza appeared, joining in the fight against Sabellian. Lirastrasza pawed around. Kazastrasz rode on her shoulders. "It's there," he said, "next to your claw." Lira picked up the Lesser Soul. Beside them, Onyxia glimpsed Samia Inkling fighting hard beside Sabellian, until Sabellian roared at her and she disappeared. An earth elemental swung at Ysera.

"Eleven o'clock!" said Kazastrasz. "And fire!"

Lirastrasza aimed the Lesser Soul at Sabellian, but the beam of light only pissed him off.

And where was Nalice?

"Because of what you did," said Thrall, "your kind will go extinct."

Onyxia saw a shadow at the corner of her vision, looming behind Thrall.

"No," said Onyxia. "If we go extinct, it will be because of the Old Gods. Not because of anything I did. What I did was only a drop in the bucket, a part of their plans, and in the end I was discarded. Do not blame me if you make the choice to murder every last one of us."

"You won't even take responsibility." Thrall frowned, and made no move to lower the Dragon Soul pointed at her chest.

The shadow grew larger.

Alexstrasza and Lirastrasza reeled backwards as Sabellian lunged for Lirastrasza's throat. Kazastrasz yelled out directions to Lira, but the elementals swarmed them both on all sides. Sabellian's jaws closed around Lirastrasza's throat and tore it out. Her hot blood gushed on the snow. Kaz tumbled from her back and was swallowed by a snow drift.

Nozdormu and Chromie hovered above, watching Thrall and Onyxia. They made no move to warn Thrall of the mass creeping up behind him.

The Scourge appeared; Eduard, with a band of only three Scourge left standing. He called out to Onyxia but she had to ignore it.

"I'm responsible for what I do," said Onyxia. "Not for what the Horde and Alliance do. I damaged Stormwind, but did little else."

"You violated Varian Wrynn and crippled his kingdom from the inside," said Thrall. "Lesliora claimed you used her magic to put our lives in danger even as you claim to be acting in self defence. How can this world ever see peace when there are people like you in it?"

"You are a peaceful man, Thrall," said Onyxia. "You don't want to kill me, or you wouldn't have wasted our time with this speech. You want peace. You believe in peace. But I have something to tell you, Thrall."

Thrall watched her, glaring. Above, Nozdormu winced.

"Being peaceful," said Onyxia, "never saves the hunted."

The shadow struck. Nalice snatched up Thrall in her jaws, shook once, twice, three times — and tossed Thrall aside, slamming his body into the cold wall of the temple. The Dragon Soul flipped over and landed at Onyxia's feet in the snow.

"I'd have eaten him," said Nalice. "But orcs give me food poisoning."

Onyxia picked up the Dragon Soul and shoved it down her shirt. It settled, caught by her belt, and laid flat against her stomach.

A flash of blue appeared. Sabellian cried out as Alex pinned him down. Kalecgos rounded on Nalice and Onyxia. He opened his mouth and Onyxia could only watch as the flames built —

"Don't hurt them!" cried out Sabellian.

The hint did not go lost on Onyxia. As Nalice's hackles rose, Onyxia grabbed her foreleg. "Don't." She raised both hands in surrender.

Nalice snarled. Kalecgos glared at them.

"Don't hurt them," said Sabellian. "Please."

Nozdormu was snickering as he landed; that damn Bronze knew everything, Onyxia thought as Alexstrasza called off Kalecgos. Mercs spilled out around them as the elementals stopped their fight. Freed, Deathwing returned to the air.

Crossbows glinted in the dim, pre-dawn light. If the mercs were smart, there would be Dragonbane on every single one. Leonardo Withering glared at Onyxia. Lesliora was nowhere to be seen.

Nalice opened her mouth, snarling.

"Shut it," hissed Onyxia. Nalice hissed and quietened.

"Please," said Sabel. "I just wanted to protect them."

When Alexstrasza looked at Nozdormu, the Bronze Aspect struggled to keep a straight face. He nodded.

_I can't believe they're about to fall for this again, either_, thought Onyxia as she and the Bronze Aspect exchanged looks.

Alexstrasza picked up the Lesser Soul. She signalled to the mercs. Nalice shrunk down into mortal form as the mercs corralled her, Onyxia and the whelps into a cluster. Jettion hovered beside Onyxia. Katia crawled through the snow up Nalice's leg. Wrathion and Young Sabel were unceremoniously — Wrathion in the form of a boy — shoved into the circle. So was Eduard, his last red-clad Scourge dead, tabard now useless as disguise. He was shaking. He'd never seen battle before, had he?

"No," said Alexstrasza as Sabel was shoved into place beside Onyxia. The Eye of the Watchers gazed at Onyxia from the Dragonqueen's belt. Kazastrasz struggled out of the snowdrift to stand by Alexstrasza's side. "This time, no mercy. You tricked us once, you won't — " She frowned, glancing over her shoulder. Shaking herself, she looked back to Onyxia. "You won't do so again.'

She glanced over her shoulder again. Frowning, she sniffed the air, but the wind blew against her face and carried her scent behind her.

Why? Was something telling her to look there? Had the Old Gods noticed something?

"Your daughter just killed the greatest shaman that ever lived." Alexstrasza addressed Sabellian. "One of my daughters is dead, thanks to you." Kalecgos growled, Ysera glared with her eyes open.

The air seemed to shimmer behind Alexstrasza. It was human shaped.

"You'll be put to death, here and now," said Alexstrasza. "Kalec, Ysera, bathe them in — " she turned around, one more time.

Samia Inkling appeared out of stealth, grinning, the Eye of the Watchers in one hand and a fistful of ash in the other. She flung it in Alexstrasza's eyes and vanished again, cackling, into thin air.

"That's my girl," said Sabellian.

"Deathwing!" called out Nozdormu, shifting with Chromie to flatten themselves against the ground as mortals.

Deathwing appeared above them all. His jaw opened.

"Duck," said Sabellian, and followed his own advice.

Nalice and Onyxia dropped to the ground just in time for an intense gale to pick up and for the elementals to return. The wind sent mercs flying, and wrestled Deathwing back to earth. Even the Aspects spun away. Deathwing growled and dug his claws into the earth. An air elemental held up the Lesser Soul and brought it to Sabellian once again.

Onyxia clawed her way along the ground. She brought the Dragon Soul from inside her shirt and pressed it to Sabel. "You'll need this."

Sabel rose. The elementals coalesced around him and the Obsidian Dawn as a shield, slowing the air immediately around them as Sabel took aim with the Dragon Soul. Golden light thudded straight into Deathwing's chest.

He screamed. His wings beat, atempting to lift off the ground.

Sabel shoved the Dragon Soul back into Onyxia's hands. "Oh, no you _don't_!" The elementals of the air renewed their assault, sheltering Onyxia, Sabel and their kin as the gales physically picked Deathwing up and sent him flying into the Obsidian Dragonshrine.

And then Wrathion screamed, clutching his head, and the world tremored. Nalice's eyes widened and she staggered, even as she shifted back into the form of a dragon. The Old Gods roared, writhed and deafened Onyxia inside and out with their screams. Young Sabel whirled around, eyes wide. The earth elementals cried out in pain and begun to bury themselves again. Even Young Sabel's cries were not enough to bring them back. Onyxia tightened the barriers around her mind as the Old Gods pummeled against them again and again. Nalice snarled. It threw Samia out of stealth, whimpering.

The ground came out from underneath Onyxia's feet, sending her falling again. She clutched the Dragon Soul tightly in both hands, her head rattling inside the Helm of Domination. Nalice fell on her side. In the distance, lava spurted into the air. Onyxia rolled onto her stomach. She couldn't stand; Sabel had to pick her up from the ground and carry her away. Young Sabel and Wrathion fluttered around them, with Jettion following suit.

The ground shook hard beneath them. Nalice only took a moment longer to follow Onyxia's example, and plucked the struggling Samia from the ground, the Eye still in her hands. Eduard barely grabbed onto Nalice's tail on time.

They followed Sabel.

The ground never stopped shaking.

_Another Cataclysm_, said the Ambassador. Onyxia felt the Scourge all around Northrend falling around like wooden posts, standing up only to fall again. _It's going to get bigger. Deathwing's going to rupture this world if we don't stop him now_ —

The Obsidian Dragonshrine was unrecognisable.

Deathwing's massive body had made a crater bigger than him in the ground, a crater into which magma flooded. The volcano behind the shrine threatened to collapse as it spewed ash and rocks into the sky. Samia cried out as one hit her leg. Another knocked against Katia, almost making her let go of Nalice's neck. Tentacles bigger than Teldrassil's branches split the earth and flailed about. Magma splashed Nalice's face, but she hissed with anger, not with pain. Glowing tendrils grew from between Deathwing's plates, writhing.

And in a pool of magma, Deathwing screamed as his body began to disintegrate with lingering, golden light.

Sabel braced himself on the earth, all four legs digging in stubbornly, his head set and eyes fixed on Deathwing. Onyxia clutched the Dragon Soul, falling from Sabel's back as he shifted into mortal form.

"Let me — " Sabel made to grab for the Dragon Soul, but the earth's quakes sent her rolling away. She struggled to her feet. "Onyxia, no, come here, let me — "

"Give me a moment!" Onyxia attempted to stagger towards Sabel, but a boulder underneath her surged upwards, sending her falling again. She caught a glimpse of Samia as a dragonspawn beside Sabel; he held the Eye of the Watchers and the Lesser Soul. The two of them stood with legs planted apart, struggling to stay standing. Samia's four legs gave her an advantage.

"The Old Gods," Nalice called out. "They're fighting you, they know the minute Sabel touches that Dragon Soul they will lose — "

Deathwing's head thrust out of the magma, eyes fixed on the Obsidian Dawn. His roar muted all other sound, the very force of it battering at Onyxia. Her world shook again, and Onyxia collapsed once again. She struggled to her feet. _I will always get back up. Always — _

Young Sabel shrieked, and tumbled into the crater.

"Melanian_!_" Samia screamed.

The earthquake stopped. Onyxia stood. She blinked. Big, black tears in reality hovered around her, bigger and more numerous than before, stretching eight feet up and five wide. Light flashed behind them as they grew larger by the second. _It's as if reality is no longer damaged, but breaking, breaking entirely — _

"_Melanian_!" Samia yelled again.

Onyxia looked towards Deathwing.

He held Young Sabel in one massive claw.

"Titans," breathed Onyxia. "No, he can't — "

"Put him down!" Samia screamed, staggering to the crater's edge to look down at Deathwing. "Put him down, put him down, _put him down or Titans help you — _"

Deathwing looked at her and laughed. Young Sabel shrieked.

"If I cannot live," said Deathwing, "then neither can any of you. Do not think I am unware of the nature of this world. I am the Destroyer. I will destroy you all."

"_Put him down!" _Samia screamed.

"_Onyxia_!" Sabel roared. "_Take him out, take him out now — _"

Onyxia aimed the Dragon Soul at Deathwing.

The power tore through her.

Enormous beyond description, brighter than a star, she felt the power pass through her and sear every cell of her body. It coalesced in a beam in her hands and thundered towards Deathwing, an unstoppable force with the power of five Aspects and the Titans behind it. It slammed into Deathwing. His claw opened up, and Young Sabel fell from it and into the magma, making Samia scream in horror. Young Sabel popped up from underneath, unharmed by Azeroth's fiery blood, and clawed up the side of the canyon.

The temptation to stop was great, but Onyxia did not let it. She allowed every agonising iota of magic to pour through her, pour through her very soul, threatening to divorce every atom of her body from the rest of her. The Lich King's necromantic magic held her together, a bond that clung on tightly, strengthening the connection between every cell.

But it could only last so long in the face of the Soul's raw energy. The necromantic shield held her body intact, but the magic found the link between it and her soul and ate away at it, leaving her feeling lighter and lighter —

Beyond the roar of the magic, Deathwing's body fragmented. His being broke apart, pieces of him drifting away like ash on the wind as he dissolved. Something big and black broke from his chest and sank into the magma.

"The Heart!" called out Sabellian. He shoved the Eye and the Lesser Soul into Samia's arms and dove from the cliff and into the magma, sending it splashing. Young Sabel clung to Samia. Magma flecked onto her face and cooled solid, but she did not seem to notice.

Beyond, Onyxia felt her soul drift loose. The necromantic barrier failed; just before her body could be consumed, she dropped the Dragon Soul. She felt herself grow light. Her body, distantly, fell to the ground. She was too far away to see how damaged it was. She felt the earthquake stop.

The world began to fade, and the last thing Onyxia saw was the bright dawn sky, and what was left of Deathwing floating through the air, scraps of ash in the wind.

-o-O-o-

The Obsidian Dawn waited above the crater in the pregnant silence. Samia clung to Young Sabel, staring at the magma below in shock. Nalice landed beside her, with Katia silent on her neck. Jettion and Wrathion thudded to the ground. Both Wrathion and Samia returned to their mortal forms. Wrathion did not make a sound. He gazed into the crater where Sabellian had been with lips pressed close together and a furrow in his brow.

The Aspects arrived. Ysera supported a limping Alexstrasza, with one of Alexstrasza's arms pulled around the back of Ysera's neck. Kalecgos approached the edge. Samia caught sight of Leonardo Withering standing beside Clarisse, both gazing into the crater. The mercs began to murmur. Nozdormu stepped between the Aspects and the Obsidian Dawn, silent in his vigil.

And then Sabellian returned.

He returned in an explosion of fire, spraying more magma and lava out of the crater. The priests threw up shields to protect them from the fiery rain. Sabel was bigger than Samia had ever seen him before, his horns extending behind his head before her eyes and his tail growing longer than he was before. His wings rivalled Deathwing's in size as they effortlessly bore him from the magma. Instead of trickling from his body or hardening, the magma joined with his flesh, making him greater in size than ever.

Samia smiled.

The Obsidian Dawn backed away from the edge. Samia held Young Sabel, watching his elder self in rapture. Sabellian landed, his transformation complete.

He fluttered his wings once, and then shrunk and returned to his human form.

Baron Sablemane's visage didn't look any different from before, but Samia felt the power emanate from him. The Aspects watched with jaws hanging open.

Sabel knelt by something at his feet. Samia caught sight of Onyxia, lying still on the ground. Samia approached. Eduard watched in silence.

Samia stopped. She offered Sabel what was in her arms.

Sabel quietly picked up the Eye of the Watchers and the Lesser Soul. He knelt, and touched Onyxia's chin. Samia's heart rose to her throat.

The Dragon Soul lay in her still, burned hands. Sabel picked it up.

The world began to shake again. It thundered. Wrathion cried out and collapsed to his knees. Young Sabel shrieked. More tentacles, bigger than trees, emerged from the earth and began to swarm, but the black tears had disappeared and Samia knew there was nothing left for the Old Gods to fight for. The servants of the Old Gods crashed into the watching crowd like waves against a cliff, and the Twilight Cultists shrieked with inhuman rage. The drakes started up with their roars.

Sabel smiled at Samia.

"What better source of energy to power the Eye…" Sabel lay the artefacts down on the ground. The Lesser Soul. The Dragon Soul. The Eye of the Watchers. "… Than the magic the Titans gave this world themselves?"

Sabel's hands glowed. Gold, this time.

Golden light swallowed each artefact. As Samia watched, three combined into one. The Eye glimmered, as if gathering itself.

Then the world exploded in light.

She felt it, a golden shockwave that arced outwards in a globe, passing through her like a mother's caress, gently peeling herself away to her innermost core. As she watched, the shockwave passed through the crowds and out of sight, cresting at the top of the sky and continuing outwards.

The tentacles withered and fell apart in front of her eyes. The earthquake stuttered, and stopped. The Old Gods screamed, one more time.

One last time.

Then they fell quiet, and the world — and Samia, deep inside, and the being of every living thing on Azeroth — fell silent for the first time in ten thousand years.

-o-O-o-

There was darkness, first. Onyxia had died before, and she'd only seen darkness. But when the lights came, this time, the darkness lifted behind them.

_I need to stop dying_, she told the lights. _It's not a good habit._

The lights flickered around her. She felt them smile, this time, felt _them_, felt their essences and cores. Last time, she'd gone with them, defeated.

She'd forgotten about that time. She'd remember, if she went with them again. She'd see Ebonaria again, and Romathis, and Orion, and Maleficent, and she could say hello to Serinar and meet all the other dragons whose departures had had the Black Dragonflight wither away to nothing. Her father would be there, this time. Maybe even as he'd used to be.

_I suppose I should go_, she said, looking at them. They fluttered around her, butting against her like —

Like whelps.

_You're my children_, she said, blinking in comprehension. _The ones that died in the Wyrmbog. But I laid more eggs than this. Where are the rest of you? The Brotherhood of Cinders captured some of you, I know this, but at least half of you are missing… there's no way they could have captured so many — _

_Hey_, said another voice. _Onyxia._

_Bolvar?_ Said Onyxia.

_Just where do you think you're going?_ He felt light. Happy. Free. _This world's not done with you yet. You should stop being dead now, okay?_

Onyxia rose, in the stillness.

She looked down at the lights, gently swimming around her waist.

_Yes_, she said.

-o-O-o-

"Did you seriously just bring her back from the dead?" came a muffled voice. "I thought you could only come back from the dead once."

"I'm the fucking Lich King, I could bring her back a thousand times!"

"Isn't _she_ the Lich King now, anyway?" The muffled voice was becoming significantly less muffled. Nalice? No, that was Samia speaking. "Since you sorta left her in charge and all that?"

"Nah, she was more a steward." Something poked Onyxia's shoulder. "The Helm's power wouldn't have been completely hers while I was alive. And I _am_ still alive, by the way. Oi. Onyxia. Get up. I know you're there."

Onyxia opened her eyes to see Eduard bent over her, grinning like a fiend. No, not Eduard —

"Hello," said Bolvar. "Good to see you back." He turned around and hollered over his shoulder. "Oi, Sabellian! Thanks for the whole banishing-the-Old-Gods thing!"

"You seem to be in a good mood." Onyxia blinked.

"Aren't you?" Bolvar offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet, still grinning. "They're quiet, Onyxia, they're finally _gone!_" He grabbed her and hugged her tight, making her blink.

Tentatively, she returned it.

She smiled, and for the first time, smiling didn't feel like a bad thing.

"I feel light," she said. "I feel… peaceful."

"Me too." She saw Samia, smiling at her. "It's like my head was so noisy and I didn't even realise it, and now it's quiet. I feel so calm. At peace."

"Yes," said Onyxia. "Yes, that's exactly it."

Samia grinned, laughed, and cheered. She slapped Young Sabel on the back. Wrathion stood apart from them, shaking his head as if to clear it and looking puzzled.

"I can't see anything anymore," said Wrathion. "Before, I could see through the eyes and into the mind of anyone I wanted, but — I can't. I can't, now."

"The Old Gods had given you abilities greater than anyone could imagine." Even Nalice looked content, half-smiling at Wrathion. "You still have your intrinsic powers, but you will have to train them, now. Like everyone else."

"I feel _blind_," Wrathion whined. Jettion sat at his feet as a whelpling, looking utterly confused. Even Katia couldn't stop blinking.

Dawn's light grew brighter as the sun rose from the horizon.

Behind them, Sabel approached. Samia whooped and flung her arms around him. He chuckled, holding her tightly in response.

Nalice watched as Sabellian let Samia go. "I am extremely confused to find I do not actually give a damn that you are being touchy feely with a mortal, Father."

"That was the weird thing, wasn't it?" said Bolvar. "When I was corrupted it felt like everything made me so angry. It's so nice to no longer have a stick up my ass. What about you, Onyxia?"

"Hm?" Onyxia blinked. "I suppose that is one way to put it." She lifted her head. "Sabel. What did you do? You can't have killed them, Azeroth depends on them."

"I didn't kill them." Sabel looked to her. Kept a hand on Samia's shoulder. "I didn't need to. I obliterated their powers, severed their bonds from their servants, and sent them to sleep. They are weak, now, in a deep sleep that has weakened them so much nobody, pure or not, will ever be able to hear them again. And _everyone_ is pure; that shockwave went all over Azeroth. For as long as there is an Aspect of Earth, they will never trouble anyone again."

Onyxia smiled.

"Look," said Samia. "There are black dragons over there but they're not like us. Who are they? What are they doing here?"

Sabel squinted. "Those are Infinites."

Onyxia glanced at Nozdormu, with three confused Aspects behind him. "You'd think the paradox the Old Gods' death have just caused would mean Nozdormu would never become an Infinite, therefore obliterating the existence of any Infinites."

"This is time travel," said Nalice with a smirk and a raise of her eyebrows. "You were expecting it to make sense?"

There were three Infinites. Onyxia recognised two of them. The biggest, Nozdormu's spitting image, stopped in front of his Bronze counterpart and bowed.

The other Bronzes bowed, too. The dragons present followed their lead.

"My name is Murozond," said Nozdormu's Infinite self. "This is Chroma, the once-future self of Chromie. This is Neverus, the once-future self of Nevedormu, who is but a whelp in this time. We come in peace."

Nozdormu smiled.

"We are suspended in the timeless moment between one microsecond and the next," said Murozond. "But we cannot hold it for long. We will fade, and soon, we will never have existed."

"It is so strange," said Chroma, "To see the ending to something I saw start millennia ago."

"We have come to take Sabellian into the past," said Murozond, looking at Onyxia with a smile.

"What?" said Samia.

"She doesn't mean me." Sabellian touched his younger self on the shoulder. "Goodbye, little one."

Samia tilted her head. "You don't remember any of this?"

"I remembered you," said Sabellian. "Eventually. I remembered Deathwing seizing me — I dreamed about it for years afterwards. But the rest of this? I was but a whelp." He shook his head. "I saw you in Ruuan Weld. I was… puzzled. It wasn't until Chromie came to tell the truth that everything clicked into place."

"I told the truth?" said Chromie, from beside Nozdormu. "What truth?"

"The truth of everything," said Sabellian. "Who I am. Who I was, what happened to me. You came to Wyrmrest Temple and told Alexstrasza and all those present my true story."

"I suppose I should go do that soon, then." Chromie shrugged. "After I give you to your adoptive mother."

"You never had a problem with that?" Sabel looked to both Chromies.

"We have not given you over yet, as you can see." The Infinite Chroma shrugged. "But I can tell you from other times I have observed that she took you in as one of her own. Back then, there was no corruption, no urge for her to reject you. The whelplings didn't kill each other, and they grew up, happy."

The Bronze Chromie smiled. "And they will again, now."

Onyxia remembered the rest of the world. She looked up to see the Aspects watching Sabellian expectantly. Even the mercs rubbed their heads as if a sound they had always heard had gone silent.

"I wish Serinar was here," Nalice murmured.

Sabellian nudged Young Sabel. "Go." Young Sabel stepped towards Chroma, who smiled and took his hand. Even in gnome form, she had no trouble reaching his hand.

Together she, Neverus, Murozond, the Bronze Chromie and Young Sabel disappeared from sight.

Instantly, Sabellian blinked. He perked up. "Hmm. I feel much more energetic. As if the boy was siphoning my energy." He frowned. "Maybe it's a time travel thing."

"Indeed," said Nozdormu. "Having more than one self in the present drains one's energy. The other Aspects are waiting for you, Sabellian. We must all speak, together, and ensure this violence is killed today, once and for all."

Sabel looked to them. He scowled. "First thing I'm going to tell them is that _I'm not at their beck and call_." He paused. "Actually, no. The first thing I'm going to tell them is _never to touch my Flight again_."

He stormed towards them, chin lifted high. Nozdormu chuckled and followed. Once Sabel reached the Aspects, Onyxia smiled to watch him chew them out. Kalecgos looked sheepish. Ysera stared in shock. Nozdormu smirked, and Alexstrasza's mouth hung open as she tilted her head, and then shook it, frowning and rubbing her temple.

Samia Inkling said, "What's the bet he's going to go off track and forget what he went up there for, and start talking about the mating habits of Arakkoa or something?"

Onyxia felt herself grin quietly. The mercs that surrounded them began to talk among themselves.

"He actually did that to me once," said Samia. "Did I ever tell you? I stole his lunch and — "

Bolvar touched Onyxia's arm.

She hadn't forgotten he was there.

"Well." Onyxia bowed her head to take off the Helm, and held it out to Bolvar. "I suppose I should give this back, now."

Bolvar cradled the Helm in his arms. He looked down at it.

"There's not many Scourge left now, you know," he said.

"No," said Onyxia. "Eduard mentioned the only reason he had so many was because there were Scarlet camps nearby."

"Hearthglen, yes," said Bolvar, turning the Helm around in his hands and viewing it from every angle. "The Scarlet Crusaders there died a while ago, and what dies on Northrend never stays that way."

"You're not going to bring back Lirastrasza, are you?"

"Light, no. But…"

He looked down at the magma. He raised the Helm —

Nalice seized his wrist. "_Not_ in what's left of our shrine, thank you."

_And please remember you have yet to put me back together_, said the Ambassador.

"Heh." Bolvar lowered the Helm.

_Although_, said the Ambassador, _all you have to do is gather up my bones and I can do the rest, I am used to reassembling myself._

"But don't throw it in our Shrine," said Onyxia.

Bolvar smiled sheepishly.

"So," said Onyxia. "First, we go to Sholazar to pick the Ambassador up. Then we must return to Icecrown."

"Icecrown?" Nalice arched an eyebrow. "Why Icecrown?"

"Because," said Onyxia, "I have a promise to keep."

* * *

_**A/N**: And we have... one chapter left. Wow. _

_It's been one heck of a journey._

_See you next week, and for the last time!_


	70. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

_To the Highlord Fordragon,_

_Leonardo Withering told me you were back in Stormwind. It seems all of us are drawn back to where it begun, even ghosts. In Southshore we had heard you died, but apparently that was an untruth. But the rumours there were significantly less strange than here, in Stormwind, where I overheard one mercenary from the Brotherhood of Cinders telling someone from the Frostmoon Federation that you are a dragon now, and that's why you're alive. As if there's some draconic equivalent to necromancy._

_It is I, Katrina Hackett. You may recall me — you saved my life, once, after Withering drove Onyxia from Stormwind. Our farm was burning, and you saved me. I lost my eye and my home. You came to me and asked me the truth of what happened to my family, what happened to the Prestors of old. I told you about the dragons, about my brother Richard and my sister Kitty, and you believed me. _

_Aside from my beloved Carlos you were the first ever to believe me._

_Carlos is gone, now. I miss him every day. But Richard has survived; battlemages from Alterac Valley heeded our calls for help and arranged teleportation to Stormwind. It is not a place I wanted to see again, but Richard's life was more important. He has decided when he recovers, he wants to join the Brotherhood of Cinders. He has admired them ever since they slayed Onyxia. He's barely sixteen, but… there is nothing left for us but our wits and the clothes on our back, and what the kindness of the priests and priestesses of the Cathedral of Light have given us, and I believe will be more than capable when he learns how to walk again. _

_Ravenholdt forsook us. We will not go back there. He is an adult now. I think I will do the same as he, but as a priest. As a healer, so I am never in the position of helplessly watching my son die again. There is nothing else left for me._

_(But I shan't go with him. He is a boy, after all, and boys need room to grow. Even when they are all you have left.)_

_Deathwing is gone, but Onyxia is still alive and the Black Dragonflight remains, and so I am afraid. But the Brotherhood of Cinders came to us, one night. They talked to Richard about recruitment. They talked to me. Their leader does not trust Onyxia, but he told me he will make sure she never touches me again. I can stay in Stormwind, he said. But I am not naïve; tension between the supposedly redeemed Obsidian Dawn (they don't say "Black Dragonflight" any more, all of a sudden) and Stormwind is still great, and there are many of my own kind who would still gladly see me dead for what a dragon did. And I know better than to think anything can stand against Onyxia, whether she is undead or no. I spoke with her, once, and she seemed barely to pay attention to me, barely affected by what her Dragonflight had done, if at all. Does she have any empathy at all for us mortals, I wonder? For all those lives she ruined years ago?_

_I cannot stay here. I look to the future, and I dread it._

_But I recall a young dragonspawn who helped save my son's life with powers from the earth she and a young dragon summoned, and a little of my dread fades. Perhaps, this time, the peace will last. _

_Wars among a generation may go unending, but even the generations die eventually. Even for dragons._

_With all my gratitude,_

_Reenie Hackett_

-o-O-o-

Spring.

Just, spring. The scent of pollen in the air. The sun's rays no longer weak against Anduin's face. The reappearance of in-season fruits and vegetables in the Trade District, like clockwork. Noblegarden approached. Gilneans stopped laughing at Stormwind citizens for shivering in temperatures above freezing as the world warmed.

"I'm supposed to sit in the talks by now, you know." The grass outside of Stormwind Keep, vivid and green, came up to Anduin's knees. "I'm old enough."

"Given previous circumstances, your father wants you as far away from Onyxia as possible." Maeqa, his bodyguard, kept a respectful distance from his shoulder. "He wanted to send you to Darnassus."

"_Darnassus?_"

"Remember what happened last time he sent you to Ironforge?"

"Hmph." Anduin stopped by the pond. On the little island in the lake, he watched the shamans from a distance. Was the new Aspect of Earth among them? "So now I'm banished from the Keep."

"You are lucky I could talk your father out of it." Maeqa stopped at his elbow and folded her arms behind her back. "There are too many members of the Black Dragonflight in the Keep for anyone's liking. They are lucky they were admitted at all."

"They're called the _Obsidian Dawn_. And it had nothing to do with luck, the other Aspects showed up all at once and pretty much cornered my father into it."

Maeqa canted her head slightly, watching him. "And your opinion on that?"

"They wouldn't have done it unless they had to." Anduin shrugged. "Apparently I missed a show, though, when Onyxia appeared. If Sabellian is so wise, why did he bring her?"

"Maybe it was wisdom we are not aware of."

"Hmph. They want peace so badly and yet they twist our arms." Anduin knelt by the water's edge and picked up a stick. "From the story I've been hearing, the Aspects have changed their minds about the Obsidian Dawn so quickly they have whiplash."

"The mercs tell me Nozdormu has been twisting _their_ arms as well."

"I suppose the Obsidian Dawn must really be that important." Anduin stared out at the surface of the water, gleaming in the mid-afternoon sun.

Maeqa considered him. "You were close to Onyxia, once."

"She was a dragon."

"And? It must be affecting you."

"It doesn't. It's not your concern."

"I may be your bodyguard but I guard your state of mind and guide you as much as I defend you." Maeqa sniffed. "Speak your mind."

"I don't really know what to think, to be honest." Anduin ran his hand through his hair. The other one still clutched the stick, spreading gentle ripples across the water. "I miss Bolvar. He was never the same after what happened. You know, one of the guards said Bolvar was back?" He snorted. "Right." He sat down on the grass.

Maeqa stiffened. "Blackwhelp, four o'clock."

Anduin twisted around, brandishing the stick. Maeqa drew her sword.

A large whelp fluttered across the ground towards them, followed by a scowling, dark-skinned boy in a turban. The whelp stopped in the grass before Maeqa and chirped at her. It sounded like a question.

"Hmm." Maeqa sheathed her sword, but did not take her hand off the hilt.

"I think it's a pet," said Anduin. "See the boy over there, the one in the turban? He looks pissed."

"Language, my prince."

The whelp chirped politely and plopped on the ground in front of Anduin. Chirped again.

"Hello," said Anduin.

Then suddenly the whelp transformed into a girl and launched itself at Anduin. "_I missed you I missed you I missed you!_"

"What the f — " Anduin remembered his bodyguard was listening just in time. Maeqa tensed, drawing her sword.

"_I missed you I missed you I missed you!_"

The bad-tempered boy with the turban stopped a short distance away. "Apparently he missed you."

"What?" Anduin squawked. "He? I'm pretty sure this is a girl. Uh. Why's she hugging me?"

"He's a he." The boy sniffed. "He does that. He chooses a different form each time. Sometimes a boy, sometimes a girl."

"Remember me?" The girl clinging to him grinned up at him. "You used to feed me ham under the table and Bolvar Fordragon hated it!"

"Holy — " Anduin blinked. "_Jet_? Is that you?"

Jet shrieked and hugged him tightly again, before shifting back into a whelp and fluttering around his head.

"I thought you were a boy?" said Anduin.

"I am," said Jet.

"Then why did you turn into a girl?"

"Because I wanted to!"

"What happened to your _eye_?"

"He probably poked it out with his tail," deadpanned the boy with the turban.

Jettion curled up into a tight, purring ball in Anduin's lap. Anduin patted him, making Turban's lip curl in disgust. Anduin smiled politely at them. Maeqa glared daggers. "So you've come with the Obsidian Dawn, then," said Anduin.

"Obviously," drawled Turban.

Anduin waited, but when it wasn't forthcoming, he asked, "What is your name? Are you a dragon, too?"

"I am Wrathion, the Black Prince and third in line to the Obsidian Dawn, and will likely never Ascend as us dragons live forever and my damned mother stands between me and my grandfather should he do us all a favour and cark it. Which I hope he doesn't, because my mother becoming Black Aspect would be the worst idea ever." Turban sighed. "You, I assume from Jettion's drama, are Prince Anduin."

"Indeed," said Anduin cheerfully. "So how are the diplomatic talks going, do you know?"

"My grandfather chose his diplomats poorly, although he is known for his enjoyment of other people's pain so it is unbeknowst to me whether or not it was deliberately sadistic or simply a display of power," said Wrathion. "Auntie Onyxia was almost turned into a pincushion as soon as she stepped into Stormwind. She has been allowed to explore the Keep under guard, but was prohibited from the peace talks by _your_ father. She has been replaced by her much more mild-mannered backup, who had the feeling such an altercation would take place, although his appointment as diplomat was also unwise because humans are pathetic, sentimental and weepy. However, he seems to be having some success last I checked in, because even Varian Wrynn is aware that if he annoys the saviours of the world he will annoy everyone else. It seems as if the other Dragonflights are suddenly best friends with us again due to guilt. I hope they _drown in it_."

Anduin tried not to laugh at Wrathion's long suffering. "Really?"

"I suppose it helped the other Aspects are present today, along with my grandfather," said Wrathion. "And that Auntie Onyxia had the tact not to protest when King Wrynn yelled at her. Or to make smartass comments. It's a good thing my mother's not here; pure or not, my mother never could resist provoking people. That would have been a disaster." Wrathion sighed dreamily.

"I see," said Anduin.

"Apparently you met her once. Her name is Nalice?"

Anduin winced. "She had _kids_? Oh, _Light_." Then, "Wait, someone _married_ her?"

"No. Well. Yes. When he realised what he'd done, he died in embarrassment."

"Um." Was Wrathion being serious or not? "Sorry?"

"Deathwing killed him." Wrathion snorted. "There was a lot of shouting in the Keep. Mostly your father, although Grandfather joined in and yelled back just as loudly. He's always been bad tempered."

"Seems to run in the family," muttered Maeqa.

"Where is the graveyard?" said Wrathion. "The High Wyrmpriest is there."

"What's a High Wyrmpriest?"

"Something Grandfather made up. She's the founder of the Wyrmcult. Or, she will be. Now, can you please answer my question?"

"It's near the Cathedral of Light," said Anduin. "Not anywhere near here, sorry."

"Hmph," said Wrathion.

"Andy!" called out a voice.

Anduin looked up to see Myth, the young night elven boy, and his dog Crithto tearing across the grass towards them. Crithto had a hat on, today. "Andy, Andy, Andy!" the boy yelled.

"Myth?" said Anduin.

Myth almost fell over as he skidded to a stop, not even looking at the Blackwhelps present. "Fordragon's alive! He's alive, he's alive, he's alive! He's in the library, I saw him! I saw him after the peace talks came to recess, he's alive — "

"Myth, he's dead."

"_I saw him!_ He talked to me and Dad and his hair is strange but it's him!" Myth pouted. "He said I hadn't grown an inch!"

"What?" said Anduin, dropping the stick. Maeqa perked up. "Really?"

"I swear to _Elune_ I've grown at least that much!"

"No, I meant Bolvar!" Anduin rushed to his feet and bowed sloppily to Wrathion, who sniffed. Jet fell out of his lap with a shriek. "Er, sorry Jet — I have to go."

-o-O-o-

It had taken weeks to wait for the eruption to stop, for the magma to cool, and then to clear the rubble and reinforce the ceiling. Serinar had not meant for any of their enemies to have the Obsidian Dragonshrine, but after digging for almost a month with an entourage of dragonspawn, one of them undead, Nalice finally stumbled upon the intact deeper passages.

Today, she was mostly alone. The dragonspawn had gone across the sea, home to Stormwind with Bolvar Fordragon, Onyxia and Sabellian. Wrathion, too. Katia had cried for days after her big brother abandoned her. When he returned, Nalice was going to have Words.

The deeper passages were occupied. Some of the Twilights had claimed a portion of it — some aggressively, some more timidly — but Nalice had allowed them to have their emotional baggage and their space. They were lost without Deathwing or their martriarch Seldarria. They spoke of having an Aspect of their own, as if they could conjure a Heart of Twilight out of thin air. Nalice left them there to their own devices. They'd leave when they realised building their own shrine was better than sharing. As long as there was no violence, why should she care? The Obsidian Dragonshrine had been far too empty for far too long.

But with each day that passed more drakes and whelps trickled into the Shrine. Dragons that had been in hiding, defectors from Deathwing's army, dragons who'd still _been_ in his army once purified. First it was her hatchlings from Sholazar, then came the others. Only the other day the first dragon all the way from Outland had arrived, nearly dead from his journey and years of malnourishment. "I'm only a scout," he'd said. "The druids in Blade's Edge were called to Sholazar to heal the land there, after something happened with the pillars. I have to go back to tell the others we can go home."

"Rest first," said Nalice. When the other dragon rumbled in appreciation, she said, "Otherwise you'll cark it before you can get back and then where will we be?"

None of the fully-grown were female, but plenty of the drakes and whelps were. It made Nalice smile.

Day in and day out, Sapphiron — the Ambassador — had been killing wildlife and bringing them back to the Obsidian Dragonshrine for the children. It was bizarre, Nalice reflected, to see them feed without killing each other, without more than the occasional squabble over a meaty bit. Sapphiron had left for Stormwind, too.

Today, the only adults in the shrine were Nalice and the Outland scout. Eduard was off doing something in Dustwallow for Fordragon — it would take some time for Nalice to get used to the idea of having an undead dragonspawn in her service. Eventually she managed to have Tariona White brought back to Northrend, and her first question had been, "Why are there so many brooms here?" only to say, "Never mind" five brooms later.

As Tariona reached for another broom, she said, "Do you think the others will settle in Stormwind?"

"No." Nalice continued to sweep the ash. Katia watched them both, still miserable. "Every single one will return. Stormwind will be no home for them now."

Later, Tariona gave up on broom number six and left to sleep in the dormitory cavern. Katia followed Nalice around.

The two of them were alone.

"You know," Nalice said to Katia, throwing aside a broom handle. "It was my father's disability that made me a pariah, not anything I'd done myself. My mother Maleficent was one of the most powerful Black dragons alive, so nobody dared touch her for becoming his mate. So they condemned me, instead."

Nalice picked up a broom from the wall. They were running out; Serinar had liked to pass most of his spare time making brooms, complaining they never lasted long. "I was the strongest of my siblings, I murdered most of my clutch, but the Black Dragonflight hated me anyway. I did not inherit my mother's power, nor my father's aptitude for shamanism, and that made it worse." Nalice ran a hand through her hair. "Serinar only mated with me to spite Maleficent. He was in love with her, you know. He was absolutely insulted she chose my father as a mate. Grudges run in our veins as much as blood does, and thousands of years later he decided he'd use me to make her jealous. Idiot. Of course, Maleficent took real delight in _that_. She taunted him, said that he was weak to be threatened by Sabellian." Nalice smirked. "And, of course, later on he'd tell me my tongue was worse than Maleficent's and that it was the worst decision he'd ever made, but what does it matter? That's quite typical of my kind, to speak to each other like this. I kept him in line, and he did ultimately grow fonder of me than he'd ever been of her. I did scorn him because — "

Katia sneezed. The twigs of Nalice's broom flared and turned to ash.

Nalice sighed and reached for another. "Oh, how I look forward to having more whelplings around destroying the cleaning supplies!" She quietened, then, watching Katia with a tight grip on the handle. "I did scorn him for keeping the Old Ways — at least, as much as he was able — but I loved him. And he loved me. And I shall always long for him. The Shrine has been my home ever since he took me on as his mate and consort, and it will stay my home."

She felt a gust of air. Heard a flutter of wings.

"Oh look," she said to Katia. "Another visitor. Shall we see?"

At the mouth of the Obsidian Dragonshrine, there was another drake — no, a dragon. He was small, but a dragon nonetheless. A male one, disappointingly enough, but…

"Oh hello," said Nalice. "Last time I saw you I was cut up and you were about to set your…" she paused. "… Great-grandson on me, then you lost it and went raving into the bushes." She gave a malevolent smile. "By the way, Fahrad, how _are_ you? Voices no longer giving you trouble? Because if they are, then you are truly insane and it wasn't Old Gods after all. Hate to disappoint."

Fahrad stared at her sheepishly. "Um."

"Not much to say?"

"I didn't come earlier because I was afraid."

"Usually I would make fun of you for that, but lately I've found myself not actually caring. If you wish to be a coward, after all, it doesn't do anything to me, does it? Go ahead, embrace your inner coward! I, for one, am quite tired of heroes."

"I meant," said Fahrad, "It's extremely odd that my own granddaughter is several times my age."

"Time travel," said Nalice.

Fahrad hesitated. "Yes. I suppose."

Nalice twirled her broom in her fingers, just in time to find half of it had been singed off again. She sighed. "And how is Ravenholdt taking your draconity?"

"I think they're more concerned that I lost self control," said Fahrad. "They're more worried about Wrathion, and angry about his manipulation. Some have returned to Stormwind with their relatives. Others think it's thrilling that there's a Black dragon in their midst."

"Well!" said Nalice. "The dragonspawn population needs replenishing and once Inkling's training is complete, she will be restarting the Wyrmcult from which we will draw upon for more dragonspawn. She's a _priestess_ now, not that she knows anything about priesting. If you feel so inclined, it would greatly help us if you could point prospective recruits to the Obsidian Dragonshrine. Hmm, it could help for us to have our claws sunk in to Ravenholdt. Care to help?"

"I'll… think on it," said Fahrad.

Nalice heard more wings. A couple of drakes land beyond. One released an armful of whelplings.

"Those must be Obsidia's," said Fahrad, quietly. He sniffed the air. "Some are female."

"I am no longer the last of my kind." When Nalice smiled, she heard no soundless voice inside her head chastising her for it. "It will be hundreds of years before they can mate, and we do not yet know if we have the diversity to truly replenish our numbers, but… we will survive."

"And we have all the time in the world," said Fahrad.

-o-O-o-

Leonardo Withering's brand new Alliance tabard swung as he walked down the hallway of Stormwind Keep, an envelope in his fingers. Clarisse walked, cackling, beside him.

"You should've been there!" Clarisse could barely talk for giggles. "You should've been there. So, these five jackasses who think they're so fucking great walk into the Great Hall. Sounds like a joke. _Five dragons walk into a bar._"

"The Aspects?"

"Mhmm! Led by Lady Alexstasza, of course, although Sabellian whined endlessly about it and right in front of her, too. Anyway, so these five jackasses go up to the king and they're like, _we're going to talk about fucking treaties with the Obsidian Dawn whether you like it or not, motherfucker._"

"I'm guessing they didn't use that kind of languag."

"Nah, course not, dragons don't swear and they shit unicorns or something. So anyway, they've got this entourage, you know? One dragon from each Flight for the Aspects, except for the Obsidian gits, who bring this whole fucking entourage of dragonspawn. Or at least I'm guessing they're dragonspawn, 'cause they've all got the weird black hair and I swear to the fucking Light that one of them was Hannah. You know, that chick we kicked out who died at the Wrathgate? Except she's gone all weird and dyed her hair black like the rest of them. Ew, cults."

"I was there, remember?"

"Anyway, so Whatshisface the one that jumped into the magma like it was a motherfucking pool is like, hey, here's my fucking diplomats. And you'll never guess who they were, you'll never guess — "

"Bolvar," said Leo. "I know. I was told."

"Nah, not just him!" Clarisse cackled and threw her arms into the air. "So there's the fucking Ambassador, just this dead guy walking around Stormwind like it's fucking nothing and nobody wants to bump him off, but that's not all. Fucking _Onyxia_ turned up."

Leo walked around a corner, almost crashing into a lady. She gave the cackling Clarisse a dirty look and brushed past them without even a glance.

"So what does Varian Wrynn do? He loses his fucking shit. He doesn't give a shit that there's fucking Alexstrasza and Nozdormu there. I was like, begging Nozdormu to rewind time and shit because it was embarrassing but it was actually pretty fucking funny. He chewed her head off in front of fifty members of the House of Goddamn nobles. Varian, I mean, not Nozdormu. It was a fucking once in a lifetime event. You should've been there!"

"Heh. I wouldn't have minded seeing that."

"Anyway. He's like, no, you are _so_ not sitting in these talks, I'd rather gargle goblin urine, and Sabellian is like fuck off you jerkwad, except nicer — well, no, he wasn't much nicer about it. Sabellian's like, look, she mighta been dead whatever years, but she knows Stormwind law like a goblin knows how to get around legislated corporate social responsibility, and he ain't walkin' in there without her to rip Varian's terms apart and shit. So Varian loses his shit and at first it's really funny but then Nozdormu's like, 'guys, I've seen this shit before, you're going to be yelling at each other _for fucking ever_ if we don't do something now' and he, like, kicks Onyxia out."

More entertained by Clarisse's colourful storytelling than the actual events, Leonardo snickered. "Oh, really? I bet she wasn't pleased."

"I don't think she gave a shit, to be honest, she just shrugged and went 'well okay' and left. So Varian's like, ha, I fucking win you dragon scalebutt, and it's not 'til half an hour later when the talks have started that he shits himself because he just let a fucking dragon he hates loose in his own keep. Nice one, King Dumbfuck."

"… Great."

"She's not hard to miss, though, because just about half of Stormwind law enforcement has taken to following her around in case she, I don't know, tries to set people on fire. 'Cause they were so useful _last_ time she turned into a damn dragon. Dicks. Anyway, there's a recess because apparently one of the dragons in the talks is secretly Sapphiron and he told Jaina Proudmoore she would have gotten along well with Katie — "

"Katie?"

"K-T. Kel'thuzad. So one of the mercs threw a chair and Varian was like ugh I hate you all and called time out. It was the best thing ever, Stormwind politics is usually so goddamn dull and today it's been nothing but comedy!"

"Ah." Leonardo stopped in front of a door. "Clarisse. I'll have to leave you now."

Clarisse peered at the door. "Hey, I know this one, isn't this the one where they were fucking? I know this one!"

"… Please, Clarisse."

"You know if you just want me to fuck off, you can say so, you know."

"Clarisse, fuck off."

"Atta boy!" Clarisse grinned at him, clapped him on the shoulder, and walked away with a skip in her step.

When she vanished around the corner, Leo rapped on the door.

A familiar voice inside said, "Come in."

Leo hesitated.

The voice didn't come again.

When Leo stepped inside, he saw the room was half empty. It always had been, but now it looked hollower than usual. A little girl with black hair lay on her stomach drawing. She barely looked up at him before she continued, a quill half-broken in her clenched fist. Leo saw that a couple of boxes were packed with her belongings. Miss Perin, Saya's long-suffering tutor, was nowhere to be seen. As usual.

"Hello Saya," said Leo. "Where's your father?"

"He's in the laboratory with the Wyrmcultists," said Saya. "He's giving the officers training today."

Apparently Saya wasn't quite sure when "today" was, but then, when had she ever been?

"Well," said Leo, used to her spewing out such bizarre statements. "I hope he enjoys it."

"Nah, he hates it, there's this one student always crawling up his ass." Apparently Saya wasn't five today, either. She was a lot calmer, a lot less high strung, than Leo was used to seeing her. "Also he has talks with the Dark Irons afterwards, and you know what _they're_ like. Fenran's an asshole."

"Uh huh," said Leo, and moved through a doorway.

He found Bolvar in his study.

It was a strange dichotomy. Once upon a time, Bolvar had been all chocolate hair, green eyes, armour of gold and blue that made him glow like the sun. Today he looked cold, shivering slightly as he looked down at a music box on his desk. He looked up to see Leonardo there. He smiled. "Leo. It's good to see you."

Leo's eyes surveyed him, taking in Bolvar's black hair, dark eyes, and patchwork Northrend armour. It took a moment before he found his voice again. "It's good to see you too, old friend."

There was silence between them. Leo felt self conscious about his feet on the floor, about his arms wrapped around his waist. What should he do with them? Shift casually to lean on one leg? Place his hands behind his back? He'd never been so aware of his own body before. Was he frowning?

"It's warm in here," he blurted out.

"I feel cold in anything that isn't a desert or volcano, these days," said Bolvar. "Drawback of being, you know, a dragon."

"So, you're an actual dragon now."

"Well, no. They can't do that, though I'm pretty sure Sabellian's going to try find a way once everything's settled. They need women, after all. I'm dragonspawn. It was a… a gift from Onyxia as a thank you for not skewering her ass earlier."

"I, uh, see." Leo uncrossed and re-crossed his arms. "So what happened to the Helm of the Damned? I thought there should always be a lich king?"

Bolvar rolled his shoulders. "Dragonfire."

"Hmm?"

"It was melted down. No more Lich King. Not anymore." Bolvar closed his eyes. "I'm just in this one body again. A dragonspawn body. But I look human, and feel like a… super human. I can smell everything. Hear everything. See details I couldn't before. I think I can get used to this." He smiled weakly.

"I thought you hated dragons."

"I won't lie, it's hard to let go of old grudges." Bolvar shrugged. "Never thought I'd serve Onyxia. But she said I could do as I pleased. She wouldn't stop me if I left. But I can't stay here, Leo. This isn't my home anymore."

"You'll always be my closest friend," said Leo, quietly.

Bolvar's smile wavered. "Heh. And — you to me, I — I hope, I, uh…" He rubbed his arm. "I'll stay with them. At least for now. Help them rebuild. Keep an eye on Onyxia. I believe and trust in her sincerity, but there's a part of me that feels I have to remain vigilant. At least, for now."

"So now you and Ka — Onyxia are best friends?"

"It's…" Bolvar's brow furrowed. "Complicated."

"Uh… _huh_."

"You have to remember we're just as guilty as we are."

"I don't think so," said Leonardo Withering. "You've been listening to her too much."

"It's something I've suspected for a while," Bolvar murmured, lowing his eyes. "I was so angry, I… it lurked in the back of my mind that killing her wasn't the right thing to do, but I thought it was just love clouding my judgement. So I went to the opposite extreme."

For a long moment, nobody said anything.

"I just came from the Cathedral of Light." Leo stuck out his hand with the envelope. "Katrina Hackett was there — Richard, her son, was caught in the Sludge Fields, but he's making a recovery. It got hairy, but he's through the worst of it and the gnomes say they can build him some mechanical limbs. Gangrene got most of them. She wrote a letter to you."

"I don't think she'll be happy." Bolvar took the letter from him as if it would explode in his fingers. "She'll have heard Onyxia's back by now."

"I don't think she knew what to think," said Leo. _Not any more than I do._

Bolvar smiled weakly again.

"So," said Leo. "How did Varian Wrynn take you all showing up on his doorstep?"

"It wasn't unannounced," said Bolvar. "Sabellian wisely had Alexstrasza arrange it. In spite of Lirastrasza's death she's just about falling over herself with guilt about the whole yeah-we-tried-to-wipe-out-your-kind thing and he's exploiting it for all it's worth so Onyxia has to rein him in a little. Anyway, when we turned up Varian did not take Onyxia's presence well."

"I heard."

"He kind of lost it at her. Don't really blame him, considering everything she put him through, but I always wondered why she didn't just kill him."

"What a kindness she did him." Leo couldn't help his bitter sarcasm.

Bolvar shrugged. He still wouldn't look him in the eye. "Sabellian managed to salvage the situation. And by 'salvage', I mean he yelled back at Varian Wrynn even more loudly and accused him of being a genocidal maniac with an axe to grind."

"Clarisse didn't mention that bit. And you _didn't_ get kicked out of Stormwind?"

"Well, the other Aspects were standing there looking all repentant, like they'd been caught kicking puppies, so. Not even Varian Wrynn dares to go against a whole bunch of dragons."

"Huh. What about Onyxia?"

Bolvar's lips twitched. "She's around here, somewhere."

"Uh huh."

"So things are… tentative. Very tentative." Bolvar ran a hand through his dark hair. "Sabellian was wise to ensure the other Aspects came to mediate. Though I'd call it less 'mediation' and more 'pressuring Varian to play nice.'"

"How'd he take _you_?"

"Until Alexstrasza vouched for me, he thought I was one of Onyxia's tricks," said Bolvar. "He wouldn't talk to me at the first recess. Didn't even look at me. I'm probably as good as a traitor to him. It'll be a while before things heal, if they ever do. Right now, I'm just another person he's — " he tilted his head, as if listening to something, but Leo couldn't hear anything. After a moment, Bolvar continued as if nothing happened. "Just another person he's lost."

"Have you forgiven Katrana Prestor?" said Leo.

"I suppose I… have." Bolvar rolled his shoulders. "If we don't forgive, things will be tense forever, and we'll never move forward. In a way, it's comforting that Varian's still angry, that you're still angry — it means I don't have to be. You hold that grudge so I don't have to. And besides, the Black Dragonflight is my home now."

"It doesn't have to be," said Leo. "You could stay."

"Hell no!" called out Saya from the next room. "I hate this shithole, it's too cold!"

Bolvar chuckled sadly. "Saya's a different person. Much chattier. Less… tense. It's good to see her again. I missed my little girl so much. She must hang around Samia too much in the future to get a foul mouth like that."

"Or Clarisse." Leo frowned. "What about Proudmoore? Clarisse said she turned up and one of the dragons antagonised her — "

"Oh." Bolvar looked past Leo. "Onyxia. I thought I heard you there."

Leo whipped around.

Katrana Prestor stood in the doorway, as tall as ever, although a lot more dead than Leo was used to her being. Two purple crystals took the place of her eyes, and one of her hands was completely skeletal. She carried a staff similar to the one she'd had while in power. She was dressed as if for Northrend weather.

"I'll leave, then." Leo nodded to Bolvar. "I will speak to you later."

Bolvar muttered something in another language. Katrana Prestor casually stepped away from the door.

Leo pushed past the guards beyond, past Saya, and into the bright light of the Stormwind Keep hallway beyond.

-o-O-o-

"Some wounds will never heal," Bolvar murmured, as Leonardo Withering left.

"I am relieved he did not stay to chat," said Onyxia. "I have been loudly talked at enough for one day, I think."

"Loudly talked at…" Bolvar chuckled weakly. Onyxia didn't seem fazed by the Stormwind guards tailing her — the captain of the guard had set four to following her, but Bolvar could count at least seven crowded into the room beyond. Onyxia acted as if they weren't there. "I suppose that's one way to put it. I heard you whispering to Saya. She didn't sound suprised that you were back."

"Bronzebloods will be Bronzebloods," said Onyxia.

"Indeed. I heard her talking to Leo — apparently I'm going to train some people in a laboratory at some point in the future."

Onyxia arched an eyebrow. "And here I thought you didn't want to go back to Icecrown now the Helm of Domination is destroyed."

"I don't think she was talking about the lab in Icecrown." Bolvar turned to the desk. Set down Katrina Hackett's letter, picked up a scroll from beside the music box he'd given Katrana Prestor years ago. "You might remember I insisted on having Moira Thaurissan present at the talks… I didn't tell you why, because I wasn't sure I could pull it off, but…"

"Ah, yes," said Onyxia. "I suspect if Varian had not yelled at me, he would have had enough energy to do so at her as well."

"Well." Bolvar handed Onyxia the scroll. "I realise this may be worthless to you, as a dragon, but for mortals this represents… a big step. Frankly, I'm astonished I could get this in a single morning. There are details to arrange and a treaty to work out, but I was able to secure this far quicker than I'd even hoped."

Onyxia unrolled the scroll.

Stared at it.

"How did you _get_ this?" she said.

"Well," said Bolvar. "I think having the other Aspects present helped. The mortals are going to complain forever about dragons getting involved in Alliance politics, but…"

"No. How did you _get_ this?" Onyxia showed him the scroll. "This is the deed to the entirety of Upper Blackrock Spire. How did you _get_ this?"

"The Dark Irons never reclaimed it," said Bolvar. "After what went on with the elements there, well — they think it's cursed. There are other parts the Dark Irons don't like to touch, either, and I might be able to secure those as well for us. But that's a start. I figured you'd just move in there anyway, but I wanted to get this first, so that we know we're there with the grudging goodwill of the Alliance. Makes things easier in the long term. It's just a… a rough contract, but the details will be hammered out in the coming weeks."

"We may be able to secure some territory for the Twilight Flight, as well," Onyxia murmured. "I received a letter recently from Nalice. More and more are taking shelter in the Obsidian Dragonshrine. We must look after them, at least for a time. They are of our blood now, in a way."

Their minds had been severed from each other with the destruction of the Lich King's helm, but the bond created by Onyxia's amulet long ago still flickered like dying embers, and Bolvar knew what she would be thinking. The halls of Blackrock would need to be scrubbed of blood. The bones would need to be picked up, and their ashes scattered into the magma.

The guards staring at them from outside the room began to fuss.

"Bolvar!" called Anduin's voice. "Bolvar! Bolvar, are you there?"

"I _told_ you," came Saya's voice. "He's with the Dark Irons again. Go away. Hey, I don't remember you being this short."

"Bolvar!" Anduin pushed through the last of the guards and fell into the room.

He blinked, picked himself up, and looked at Onyxia. "Oh. Um. Hello."

Onyxia raised an eyebrow.

"Auntie Kat!" Anduin recovered himself. "You look beautiful today!"

Onyxia smirked.

"Bolvar!" Anduin threw himself at Bolvar. Bolvar almost fell over. "You're alive, you're — weird looking, but alive!"

"Light," said Bolvar. "You're almost as tall as I am. When did that happen?" He pulled Anduin away, holding him by the shoulders, and looked at him. "Light… You've grown so much…"

"I shall leave you to it, then, shall I?" Although Onyxia's tone was nonchalant, Bolvar sensed her discomfort as she handed him back the scroll.

"Wait," said Bolvar. "Before you go, Onyxia — there's something I want to show you."

Onyxia paused.

"Not now," said Bolvar. "But — later. When this trip in Stormwind is done. I had Eduard go check something for me, and… well. When this is taken care of, we'll travel to Theramore."

Onyxia tilted her head, quietly. Her tone was empty. "As you wish."

-o-O-o-

"Did you know Eduard's your uncle?" said Samia. "Nobody told me. It was _Leo_ who told me. Eduard was like, 'Oh, hey, I guess I forgot to tell you.' Asshole."

The tiny grave in front of her didn't answer.

"Er, I shouldn't swear in front of you, it's just… yeah, sorry." Samia knelt on the ground. The grave in front of her was clean; someone had been looking after it, even when the other graves around it became overgrown. The grass around it was the most vibrant green Samia had seen in a long time; the sun and the light here, in Stormwind, was brighter than it had been in Hillsbrad. "I sound like I'm not taking this seriously. I guess I thought I'd never be able to come back and I just… don't know what to say."

She ran a hand through her hair.

"You'd be six years old now," said Samia. "If you lived. I miss you, Mandy."

Samia hadn't brought flowers. Hadn't thought to. She'd just rushed off, as soon as she could. Just went to the graveyard, looking for the one that said _Amandine Inkweaver_.

It had been a long time since anyone had called her Samantha Inkweaver, but those days were long gone, along with her humanity.

The grave lay there. Tiny. Peaceful. Still.

"I should probably go now," said Samia. "I don't have time. But I'll be back tonight, okay? And I'll bring flowers. I promise. I love you, baby." She pulled at a stray piece of grass. It didn't need to be pulled out, but she felt she had to do something.

She couldn't touch her baby girl, after all.

She stood up, but she didn't leave. She stared at the grave for a long moment more, until Sabel touched her shoulder and made her jump.

"How long have you been standing there?" she murmured to him, as his hand rubbed at her shoulder.

"Long enough," he said, his eyes lingering on the gravestone. Then, he simply said, "I know what it's like."

"I know." The dead drakes of Dragon's End lingered in her memory, along with the red of Blade's Edge dust. And, far away, the smell of rain. "Can we go?"

He led her away.

-o-O-o-

It was a few weeks more before they could leave Stormwind, but eventually the worst tension died down. The other Aspects had left after the first week, their guilt satisfied by their intimidation of poor Varian Wrynn. Tariona White had wanted to stay as a diplomat, but Nalice summoned her to the Obsidian Dragonshrine, and so in the second week Tariona was gone too. She left another dragonspawn in her place.

Five weeks later, Bolvar and Onyxia boarded a ship to Theramore with a small, draconic entourage, with nothing but faith in Bolvar to draw her back into the marsh she'd left unwillingly, years ago. Jaina Proudmoore went with them, along with the Ambassador. Lady Proudmoore seemed to have warmed up to him despite their rough start — although she had few words to say to Onyxia, Onyxia often caught her and the Ambassador speaking long into the night.

Onyxia had had a bad feeling from the start. Bolvar wouldn't tell her what it was he wanted to show her, but then, she hadn't asked, either. She'd hoped it was in Theramore, but he'd bought supplies and led them into the marsh, leaving their entourage behind in Theramore's tower along with Proudmoore and Sapphiron.

"We can always fly," said Onyxia. "We could be back by sundown."

"I don't know the way from the sky," said Bolvar as they passed through Theramore's gates into the marsh. "I don't even know the way from the ground as it is." With him, he carried handwritten instructions from Eduard that Onyxia didn't look at.

The deeper they got into Dustwallow, the more uncomfortable she felt.

It wasn't until after midday, when the trees began to thin, that she finally said it. "You're taking me to the Wyrmbog, aren't you?"

He paused, then, from where he'd been poring over Eduard's instructions, and said, sheepishly, "Yes."

"I don't want to rebuild it," said Onyxia.

"I didn't think you would."

"Then why are we going there?" The place looked slightly different from years of her absence, but she didn't need Bolvar or Eduard to guide her. She knew where home was.

Bolvar paused, then. Folded the instructions and put them in a pocket. "Onyxia," he said softly. "Do you trust me?"

She didn't answer.

He smiled sadly. "_Will_ you trust me?" he offered her his hand.

"I don't want to rebuild it." Onyxia stared at his hand. "I want to leave it as it is. With Blackrock and the Obsidian Dragonshrine both being rebuilt we don't _need_ the Wyrmbog. We won't for years, not until our numbers are bigger."

"Onyxia," Bolvar said softly.

Onyxia went quiet.

"Will you trust me?"

"Alright," said Onyxia, forcing herself to take the proffered hand. "Fine. I will."

He led her away.

"You're going the wrong way," said Onyxia, tugging at his hand. "It's this way."

She led them.

She led them through marsh water and over streams and small hills, avoided deep mud puddles and watched crocolisks catch their scent and scurry away from them both in fear. Onyxia steeled herself as they walked into open air. Trees knocked over years ago by her panicked crash landing were still present, tilted, rotting, and overgrown with moss. Exposed mud and dirt littered the ground as if someone had dug up half the place only yesterday.

And in front of them was the Wyrmbog.

Onyxia stopped. The jaws were massive as they always had been. They'd been there for centuries.

Bolvar gently urged her on.

She followed him, this time, keeping him in front of her as if he was a shield. He touched the teeth and they opened for him, as if welcoming him home.

Him, instead of her.

"I don't…" she said. _My children died in here._

"I had Eduard come and look here for me to find something out." He turned to her, then, still urging her gently onwards. "You had a daughter, didn't you?"

"I have had a lot of daughters, Bolvar. More daughters than you have female ancestors, I don't doubt."

"I mean one daughter in particular," said Bolvar. Although her eyes could see well in the dark he, as a male with narrower eyes, could not; she helped him avoid a couple of bones in the path she couldn't remember being there before. "You used to write to her. Her name was… Ebonaria, wasn't it?"

"Yes. I wrote to her." She pressed her lips together. "You found out about that ferreting around in my mind?"

"No, you kept records of the letters you wrote, as well as her letters," said Bolvar. "Why'd you do that?"

"I copied my own letters so I could refer to them if I had to, so I could remember my explicit instructions in case they were disobeyed," said Onyxia. She'd hidden them in the ash chute underneath the fire place, in a small drawer. "You found them?"

"Yes," said Bolvar.

The two of them twisted around one corner. A massive hallway lay before them. Once upon a time, dragonspawn patrolled here. Flametongues and Scalebanes; only the elite had the privilege of guarding Onyxia's brood.

But they were long gone.

"I read in your letters you thought someone named Romathis was plotting against you," said Bolvar. "You were worried he'd take your children from you."

"A fear every mother shares of some person or other."

"Indeed. Do you remember what you told Ebonaria to do to prepare for that eventuality? It was in your letters."

"No," said Onyxia. "It was a long time ago."

Before the last corner, Bolvar stopped them. Smiled sadly at her, her hands in his.

"You told her to bury some of your eggs," said Bolvar. "To hide them. To pretend there was some attack or other, so that if Romathis came for them, Ebonaria would be able to protect them from him without provoking him more than she had to."

If Onyxia was alive, her heart would have stopped in her chest.

"So she did," said Bolvar. "She hid them. And when the Brotherhood of Cinders came, they couldn't… couldn't find them. Well. See for yourself." He let go of Onyxia's hands.

Onyxia's mouth felt dry as she stepped around the corner.

"Lady." Eduard had been waiting for her around the corner, a half-charred broom in one hand and a bloody but empty bucket in the other. "Welcome home."

The massive cavern of the Wyrmbog stood before her. The last time she'd seen it, it had been filled with tiny corpses and the furious Brotherhood of Cinders.

Today, the bones were gone. Her blood still stained the floor in parts, and she could see the rock where her body had been mummified by the heat, but around them, here and there…

Tiny bodies. Dozens of them. Sitting clustered together feeding on some kill or other one had dragged back, or Eduard had dragged back. The room was filled with the friendly chattering of whelplings. They were so small — how long had they slept in their eggs, waiting for her to come back and dig them back up before a dragonspawn came for them at last?

The chattering stopped. Several heads turned in Onyxia's direction. Nostrils flared as many sniffed the air. Some hesitated, detecting her undeath. Others still ignored it, reluctantly coming closer.

"They're alive," Onyxia croaked. Beside her, Bolvar smiled. "Some of them are _alive_…"

Joyful shrieks and the sounds of flapping wings filled the cavern, a leathery sound reminiscent of a flock of bats as dozens of whelplings fluttered towards Onyxia. The first flew landed on her chest, her head, her foot — the rest kept on coming, knocking her onto the ground and shoving their snouts in her face, trilling. Onyxia laughed and shoved a few away. Bolvar grinned down at her.

And as the Black Dragonflight slowly crawled away from extinction — as Nalice rebuilt the Obsidian Dragonshrine with Katia beside her, as Samia and Sabel set to scrubbing and cleaning Blackrock Spire and as Wrathion started his tutelage as a shaman, and Jettion remained in Stormwind watching over Anduin — one memory would always stick out in Onyxia's mind for millennia afterwards: the memory of being piled on by whelplings eager to see a fellow dragon, welcoming her home at last.

* * *

_**A/N**: Welp. That's a wrap._

_This story started when I got annoyed at myself for never finishing what I started, and I promised myself I would finish TOD no matter what. I didn't think it would be so difficult or take so long, nor be so rewarding - but here it is. Finished. All done. I learned innumerable lessons with this story and I will miss my snarky Black dragons._

_Special thanks goes to:_

_**Coincidencless** and **Diloph** - for your beta work, your sharp eyes and encouragement._

_**Wanda Von Dunayev** - For your support and amazing critique, and for your beta work. I very much recommend Wanda's fic to anyone reading this, she is an amazing writer!_

_**The Lady Genevieve** - Although we do not know each other much, I never forgot your faith and positivity which came at a time I needed most. So thank you for that._

**_Reality_ _Deviant_** _- For being here since practically the beginning._

_And to each and every single reviewer, who have given me encouragement and constructive criticism, I would not have arrived here if not for you._

_With thanks,_

_Iceworth_


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